


Corps et âme

by Luke2leia



Category: Lost Boys (Movies)
Genre: AU, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-02-27 21:09:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18747166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luke2leia/pseuds/Luke2leia
Summary: A Paul (Lost Boys)/OC AU post-movie fix-itPaul is left for dead after the showdown at the Emerson house. Can a figure from his past heal his body and soul? Is there enough of Paul left to try?I own nothing but the plot-bunny gifted by a friend.





	1. Santa Carla

Corps et âme

 

[Paul with Jean, Santa Carla 1986]

Chapter 1 – Santa Carla

Warnings: M/M romance, rated T for teen

.........................................................................................................

The night had fallen ominously enough, the air thick and hot and crackling with untethered energy. The wind blew towards the ocean, leaving no reprieve from the fierce, wet heat of the day. Despite the temperature, the stately old house at the far east end of the island lay shuttered, windows tightly closed and blanketed by thick drapes that kept out the sun’s fierce light.

Just past sunset, Jean felt a sudden rush, a dread heaviness clamping down so hard it threatened to squeeze the undead life out of his cold, unbeating heart. The fine decanter he held fell away, catching the marble sideboard top and breaking in to a thousand glittering pieces. Ruby drops like tears spattered over his dressing gown, across the falling crystal shards, raining down to stain the intricately patterned rug.

“ANDREW! CLAUDETTE!”

The two servants came swiftly, finding their master frantic, swirling around the room, his soaked dressing gown leaving a trail of red as he went.

“What is it? What do you need, Master?” the young lady asked, approaching Jean slowly to lay gentle hands on his arm.

Agony creased his youthful face as he turned to her, clutching his chest with his other hand.

“Something is wrong. Something is terribly wrong! Oh, Claudette! I must go at once. Andrew, ready the car, we drive to California tonight!”

“Of course, sir. It will take us a few nights, though. Shall I call ahead for hotels?”

“No, there is no time! We leave within the hour. We will stop where we must.”

“Very good, sir. I’ll bring the car around.”

“Claudette, you must help me get ready. If I could, I would pray to those above I’m in time. Prepare the house for a guest, dear one, and let us all hope that it will be true.”

………….

Despite the short summer night hours, Andrew got them into Santa Carla early on the third night, traveling at speeds that would be reckless for frail humans with their stunted senses.

Jean was practically vibrating with distress as they crossed the border of the town, ordering Andrew to take the car and check in at their usual hotel as he took to the air. He had every intention to fly to the seaside cave, the home of his dearest friend, but as he rose, he caught a terrible scent wafting from further inland.

Dread sunk into his bones as he scanned the hills, sharp eyes narrowing as he caught a distant plume of smoke. Swift and silent he flew towards the darkened cabin set off in the foothills of the forest.

Jean shuddered as the scent of burnt undead flesh grew overwhelming. Caution held him back as he landed outside, listening intently to the occupants.

He felt the cold blood in his veins freeze solid as someone casually mentioned dumping remains ‘out back with the rest, where the sun would get it’.  Skirting around the cabin, his senses were straining, searching for sign of his beloved.

Finding the trail of trampled grass, he moved swiftly along it, heart clenched painfully at the heavy odors of burnt vampiric flesh tainted with true death.

Something else caught him, something that smelled wet and raw, something like an open wound magnified, flesh and blood pulsing slowly in the deep night. Coming over a small rise that lead to a creek, he found the source of the terrible scent.

The wet remains of a body, pulpy and nearly skeletal, lay unmoving in the dry grass. Falling to his knees, Jean went to move the water-laden coat, looking to check for any sign of life. His hand burned like fire where it had touched the clothing, and he hissed in anger.

As his hand jerked back, a long, thin belt with a double row of bright, metal disks fell out of the jacket’s folds, freezing Jean in place with heart-rending recognition. Ignoring the burn of the clothing’s touch, he gently gathered the wretched remains of his lover and holding him close. Rocking slowly, he crooned softly to his fallen friend.

“ _Mon étoile filante…dearest Paul…Mon ange est tombé._ ” *[My shooting star...my angel has fallen]

Dimly, he felt movement, so slight and tenuous he thought he’d surely imagined it, but it came again, a weak quiver against his hold. He dared to look towards his love’s face, now mostly bone held together loosely by a few remaining tendons and muscles. The remnants of eyes, barely attached by thin strings of nerves, twitched ever so minutely. With it came just the barest flutter of mental contact.

A strangled cry of hope escaped Jean, and he pulled off his cloak, wrapping his friend with tender care. Standing up with his delicate burden held tight, he lifted off with great speed, a strong wind bending the grass and setting the trees billowing in his wake.

…………………….

Arriving at the hotel, Jean landed at his suite’s balcony, striding in as Andrew opened the sliding door. Laying his injured love down on the bed, he turned to his butler, his face marred by distress. Andrew’s eyes were a bit wide as he took in the body of the vampire bundled in his master’s cape, but he was otherwise calm.

“My ange! He needs our help, Andrew… I must get him sustenance but I dare not leave him!”

Jean was again nearly frantic, hovering over his fallen friend, torn between reaching to cradle him and wringing his hands together in despair.

“I will stay with him, sir. You know I will protect him as I would you, with my life if need be.”

Gathering himself, Jean embraced his servant.

“You are too good to me, Andrew. I will return within the hour.”

Jean sat on the bed a moment, cupping Paul’s head with a pale hand. Bending his mind to that of his friend, he spoke and sent words of comfort, hoping that they would be heard.

“ _Dearest Ange, my love, have no fear. You are safe now. I will take care of you, and no one will ever hurt you again_.”

Standing, he moved swiftly to the balcony and disappeared into the sky.

From his aerial vantage, he scouted for the alone and unwary. Catching sight of a few drunken men supporting each other as they weaved their unsteady way down a street full of darkened businesses, he grinned wickedly, touching down silently behind them.

Jean wasted no time, dealing two of the men a swift blow to the head that sent them down to ground with a heavy thud. A third turned at the noise, and Jean descended on him, eyes flashing deep red ringed with gold. With dreadful efficiency the man was drained, not a drop spilled as Jean emptied him.

Pulling a small knife from his pocket, Jean slashed the corpse’s throat wide, obliterating his bite marks. Dragging the body to an alley, he sliced open the man’s belly as well, leaving the stinking remains without a second glance.  Gathering up the two still-unconscious men, he took off, heading back to the hotel.

Walking back in through the balcony, Jean headed straight for the large bathroom, where he deposited the bodies. Moving back to the bedroom, he unwrapped his skeletal friend, peeling the injured body out of the coat, pants and boots with painstakingly slow care.

Taking off his own coat, vest and shirt, he lifted Paul gently, cradling his friend close as he moved slowly to the bathroom, singing softly to his friend as he went.

“Plaisir d'amour ne dure qu'un moment, Chagrin d'amour dure toute la vie…Tant que cette eau coulera doucement Vers ce ruisseau qui borde la prairie, Je t'aimerai, me répétait Ange, L'eau coule encore, elle a changé pourtant.” ** [**‘pleasure of love lasts only a moment; grief of love lasts all of life. As long as this water will flow gently to this brook that borders the meadow, I will love you, I repeat (Angel), the water is still flowing, but it has changed.’ [Plaisir d’amour by Jean Paul Égide Martini]]

Jean placed Paul in the tub, laying him on the towels that Andrew had thoughtfully placed there. There was a spark of something, a faint flash of almost pain, or panic, coming from the recesses of Paul’s mind.

Jean knelt at the tub, leaning in to kiss a hard, white cheek bone.

“At ease, dear love, soon the healing will begin.”

Grabbing the first body, he used a razor-sharp nail to slice open a wrist, allowing him more control to pour the blood directly over Paul’s skull, the rich, red liquid painting it thickly, only to be sucked in, vanishing as his friend’s body worked to heal itself.

The eyes began to fill in, half-empty gelatinous shapes refining themselves, becoming full orbs as nerves and vessels filled in, the fondly-remembered soft blue blooming once again.

Fully functional, they moved rapidly, roaming around the room and over Jean’s face again and again. Without muscles and skin to provide context, it was difficult to determine what Paul was seeing or feeling, though Jean could sense some vague form of distress from Paul’s regenerating mind.

The blood flow had turned sluggish, and Jean stood up, lifting the body to lean more of it over the tub as he slit a carotid, sending the remaining blood spraying over Paul’s body, to disappear as though absorbed by a sponge.

Jean cast the empty carcass aside, grabbing the next. The man had recovered slightly, now moaning incoherently. A dark smirk graced Jean’s lips as he brought the man over to the tub, slicing deeply down the inner arm and letting the blood flow down the limp hand directly over what remained of Paul’s mouth and throat.

Un-lidded eyes locked on the stream of blood, the remnants of Paul’s throat quivering as the blood bathed it.

“That’s it, ange. Le sang va vous guérir soigner.” *** […angel. The blood will heal you.]

Paul’s body drew in the healing fluid, tissue thickening everywhere it touched. The tendons of the jaw crawled like vines across the bone, swelling as they were doused. Most of the structure of his face was filling in, though not yet the skin or hair, leaving a startling countenance of muscles patchworked over pale bone.

The carcass was almost empty, and Jean upended the body easily, letting the last dregs pour over Paul’s face before tossing the husk to the side to lay upon its companion.

Jean smiled gently at his friend, reaching again to softly stroke a reforming cheek. Already there was more strength, as the body lost its broken-down, gelatinous appearance, the organs becoming more solid from the healing blood, though it would take far more to make Paul whole once again.

“Sweet ange, rest for a while. I’ll be back with more refreshment.”

He bent and kissed Paul on the forehead, his friend’s lidless eyes tracking his movement. As Jean turned away, he heard a faint rasping noise. Turning, he saw Paul staring at him, body and face twitching, and the sense of acute distress again flowed out.

Jean dropped to his knees at the side of the tub, gathering Paul close. The twitching was closer to full body spasms, or would be if Paul’s body was complete. The shattered vampire still had no words, not even when Jean brushed his mind gently. Only distress, fear, pain and an aching emptiness.

Lifting his friend out of the tub, he carried him to the bed once again. Some of the fear and distress seemed to lessen as they moved out of the bathroom, the shaking under Jean’s hands growing fainter.

Kissing Paul on a red cheek, Jean covered him with his cloak.

“Stay with him, Andrew. Perhaps you could read to him? I’ll return once I’ve disposed of the rubbish and found more refills.”

“Of course, Sir. I had brought ‘La beauté et la bête’ with me, will that suffice?”

“Beauty and the Beast? Andrew, you old romantic.” Jean smiled. “That will be perfect. But I would read it in English, yes? It would be more comforting if he can understand it.”

Andrew smiled and winked. “As you wish.”

Shaking his head and chuckling lightly, Jean gathered the bodies in the bathroom and took off from the balcony once again.

Scanning the horizon, he realized this would have to be the last trip for the night. It was taking longer than he’d hoped to treat his dear-heart. Sighing, he dropped the corpses out over the ocean, speeding back inland in search of fresh prey.

Finding an unwary couple enjoying themselves on the beach, he made haste for the hotel once again. After depositing the bodies, he went back to the bedroom. Andrew put down his book as Jean sat down by Paul’s side.

“He has seemed fairly calm, Sir.”

“Thank you, Andrew. The care you take with him touches me.”

Jean reached down to pick up his love, to be met with a focused regard behind clear blue eyes.  Jean smiled fondly.

“Ange, you are safe now. I will take care of you, have no fear.”

He bent and picked up the other vampire, moving once again to the bathroom. As he crossed the threshold, he was hit with such an intense wave of panic he staggered, nearly dropping his precious bundle. In his arms, Paul twitched and gurgled, eyes focused on the back of the spacious room where the unconscious mortals lay near the tub.

Jean paused, frowning as he considered his friend’s reaction. Stepping back into the bedroom, Paul’s distress slowly receded, though it came roaring back when Jean turned once more towards the bathroom, making as to enter it again. Turning swiftly away, he placed Paul gently on the bed once more, leaning again to kiss a skinless cheek with tenderness.

Glancing at Andrew, he smiled wanly. “We’ll need to dispose of the mattress and covers before we leave.” Andrew simply nodded, as Jean went to pick up a body from the bathroom.

After the fourth human was drained, Paul’s body was much improved, musculature mostly in place, though skin had yet to grow back. Before the first light of dawn could break, Andrew went around securing doors and the heavy set of curtains, adding the barriers they traveled with as extra protection.

Jean leaned over his love, cutting his own wrist deep, letting his blood flow into Paul’s nearly repaired mouth and down his throat. After several long minutes, he reluctantly pulled back, licking the wound to heal it. Paul’s eyes were now a deep red to almost match his own, ringed with a gold that seemed to burn in the darkening room. The muscles around his eyes and mouth bunched as despair poured from his mind.

Gathering his friend close, Jean rocked gently, singing again the sweet lullaby from his long distant youth. He picked Paul up, letting Andrew pull back the linens. Climbing under the covers as Andrew drew them up over the pair, he held Paul close, continuing his song till the rise of the sun sent them to sleep.

 


	2. Chapter 2 - Galveston

 

_Image courtesy Jean K._

Chapter 2 – Galveston

............................................................................

Warnings: M/M romance, mentions of depression, self-harm, rated T for teen

...........................................................................

Des yeux qui font baisser les miens  
Un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche  
Voilà le portrait sans retouches  
De l'homme auquel j'appartiens

Quand il me prend dans ses bras  
Il me parle tout bas  
Je vois la vie en rose

 _[Hold me close and hold me fast_  
The magic spell you cast  
This is la vie en rose  
When you kiss me, heaven sighs  
And though I close my eyes  
I see la vie en rose]

…La vie en rose, Édith Piaf

Jean had never been so grateful for the quiet security of his elegant Galveston home. The journey had been beyond harrowing as they raced south and east, stopping only to find shelter from the encroaching sun and lift another body to keep Paul healing.

The second evening on the road, Paul's skin had started coming back in thin, red patches scattered across his torso. His throat and mouth were restored, a mixed blessing, for he could then drink well enough, but the pain of the healing process as his nerves regenerated over open flesh left him a panting, whimpering mess, curled up and clinging to Jean as they flew down darkened highways, Andrew pushing the car to its limit.

A week past that terrible night, and a dozen bodies deep, and Jean's dear friend was nearly recovered, at least in body. Paul sat, wrapped around himself, on the plush divan in the sitting room.

Jean had put on a record of French classics to break the sad silence that seemed to have settled over the house since their return, but even the soft strains of darling Édith could not lighten the mood.

He didn't need to touch Paul's mind to know how he felt, though he easily could have. As desiccated as the poor boy had been, the blood he'd drank from Jean had effectively re-sired him, remaking Paul as one of Jean's own.

If he wanted, Jean could command Paul to talk, open up to him, reach out to him as once he had when Jean had visited Santa Carla in the past, when he'd become entranced with the vibrant, sunshine-bright blonde who's zest for life had captured him as surely as a dark moth to a flame. He would never though, could never, force the light of his life to do anything he did not want to, or was not ready for. Breaking the trust that was so terribly fragile in the aftermath of Paul's trauma would surely destroy them both.

Instead, he approached his friend slowly, kneeling in front of the huddled figure to slide a light hand up the boy's back. Paul flinched at his touch, back bowing out from under his hand.

"Leave me alone!" the reedy voice thick with pain was muffled by the fabric of the couch Paul now clung to, face buried in the soft velvet.

"Ange, please… please don't turn away. Let me help you."

"I don't want your help! I want my brothers; I want to be with my brothers…why did they…leave me?"

The anguish in Paul's voice hit Jean like a spike through his heart. Pink-tinged tears glistened in his wine-dark eyes as he knelt before his troubled friend.

"Sweet ange, they didn't leave you…they never would have. You know they were taken, as you nearly were."

"Where are they? Why didn't you save them too?  **WHY ONLY ME**?" Paul was nearly screaming, curling again into himself, nails drawing blood where he clutched his legs tight.

"Paul, dearest, I've told you, there was nothing left to save. Only ashes and pieces, burnt beyond repair. I would have, I swear, if only for your sake."

Paul turned in a flash, leaping at Jean to knock him over, crouching atop him with eyes red and face monstrous, roaring in anger. " **YOU LIE!** "

Jean was calm, face tinged with sadness as he spoke softly. "You know I don't, ange. You could see for yourself if you like. I will not hide the truth from you."

Paul stared for a moment, eyes hard, only to crumble like a puppet with cut strings, laying atop Jean in a shaking heap. Jean wanted nothing more than to gather the boy up and hold him tight, but held back, waiting for a sign of acceptance.

"I never wanted this!" the sad whisper came as Paul bunched up, fists clenching. He sprang up and away, heading for the doorway with a parting shot. "You should have let me die." Disappearing up into the darkened bedroom Jean had offered him, he slammed the door shut behind him, rattling it hard in its frame.

Andrew came in quietly as Jean sat up, rubbing his face and sighing.

"That's the longest he stayed out of the room yet. Perhaps he is improving?"

Jean stood, brushing nonexistent dust off his robe before retying it. Sitting down heavily on divan, he ran his hand gently over the place where Paul had rested his head.

"And he actually reached out, if being tackled counts." He smiled wryly at Andrew, who nodded back with patient sympathy.

"Care for a drink, sir? May I suggest the '63 Dartigalongue?"

"Excellent idea, Andrew, and leave the bottle."

..............................................

The nights seemed to merge together that summer, with little change in Paul's demeanor. The anger and hurt that seemed to bubble under the surface lingered, and he avoided almost any contact or attempt at comfort, despite Jean's gentle efforts. Only the slow deterioration of his hygiene marked the passing of time.

As a vampire with more than two centuries of afterlife under his belt, Jean liked to think he had learned something of patience, but the cloying scent of rot that clung to the layers of filth building up on his charge was pressing his limits. Sad enough that Paul seemed not to care for himself, but the decomposing dregs tended to slough off him as he roamed the mansion, leaving a charnel house aroma that hung beneath the fine French florals Jean favored. Poor Claudette was beside herself, unable to find anything that worked more than briefly to drive the odor away.

At least Paul was finally willing to leave the house, hunt with him in the hinterlands of Houston. With so many tiny towns dotted with dive bars and strip joints, there was never a lack of food too addled to notice even Paul's ripe aroma before death took them.

But Paul had changed there too, no longer delighted to play cat and mouse, draw out the chase till the quarry dropped, panting with fear of the terror hiding in the dark. He would descend, swift and brutally vicious, as soon as they were safe from observation, sooner if Jean wasn't watching carefully, holding Paul back when necessary to enforce one of the few rules he stood firm on.

More often than not, cleanup involved collecting pieces strewn about the landscape, to dispose of in the nearest waterway. The local papers thrummed with rumors of a vicious serial killer unofficially dubbed the 'Baytown Ripper' tied to half a dozen victims, or what was left of them. It was making hunting far more of a challenge than Jean liked.

After a kill, Paul would do little more than lick the blood off his fingers, seemingly content to be covered in accumulating layers of gore. Claudette refused to go into his room and change the sheets, and Jean blamed her not at all.

On a thick and sultry evening that promised storms before dawn, the pair came back from hunting, Andrew holding the door and eyeing Paul's retreating form with exceptionally restrained distaste. Jean sighed, placing a hand on his butler's shoulder. Andrew inclined his head with a pale smile.

"I believe there are bot flies that enjoy dead flesh?" Andrew's soft comment had just enough nuance to his lilted English that one could read it as either an attempt at humor or a serious suggestion. Only the tilt of his eyebrow gave his levity away.

"Dearest friend, at this point they'd not know where to stop, and we'd be back to the start where we found him." Jean winked, brushing down his coat and walking after Paul. The time had truly come.

"Paul" he called softly; thankful the tall blonde tilted his head to acknowledge his address.

"Come with me, keep me company?" he stood at the grand stairway that led to their rooms. Paul shrugged, but ambled his direction, eyes still red from their recent feeding. This was as promising a sign as any Jean had seen.

Paul followed quietly as they ascended to Jean's suite of rooms, draping himself over a chaise as Jean changed out of his hunting clothes in to a pair of black silk pants and matching robe. It took steely determination not to wince at the residue smearing his antique fainting couch. If Paul cleaned up it would be well worth a piece of furniture or two.

He made small talk about the hunt as he moved in and out of the suite's well-appointed bathroom, grabbing up a few handcloths and soap, spirits high. Claudette had left a pitcher of steaming water at the wash basin in the bedroom and he had never been more grateful.

Pouring water into the small, ceramic basin, he took a cloth and began cleaning his face and hands. Paul was quiet, seeming to be almost asleep as he lay stretched out. Steeling himself, Jean took a clean cloth and wet it, wringing out the excess before coming to kneel in front of his friend.

"Paul? Paul, will you let me wash you?"

Paul's eyes slid open, now pale blue. A frown creased his forehead as he considered Jean's kneeling figure.

"What's the matter? Not good enough for you? Am I stinking up your lovely home?" the acid dripping from Paul's words belied the look on his face, eyes suddenly bright, afraid to meet Jean's own.

"Oh, ange. It is you who are far too good for me. There is nothing in this house I value more than you and your happiness."

Paul curled to sit, still avoiding Jean's gaze, though he'd yet to shrug off the light hands Jean rested on his knees. The deep rumbling bass of distant thunder seemed to punctuate his inner turmoil.

"What if I'm never happy? What if I can't be anything but…this… ever again?" The painful whisper barely escaped Paul's bent form.

"Then I will stay with you, stand by your side, so you know you are not alone in your pain." Jean whispered back.

"you CAN'T SAY THAT!" Paul roared. "YOU'LL LEAVE! JUST LIKE THEY DID!" He stood, pulling away from Jean. " **NO ONE WANTS ME!** " He ran out of the room as the house shook, nearby thunder rattling the old windows and shutters.

Jean sighed, running a hand through his inky hair. So close, yet so far away. The light of his life was flickering like a candle in the hurricane of pain and loss he'd been subject to. Paul had always felt somehow lesser, disregarded and overlooked. The torture of his near-death experience seemed to have exacerbated that outlook.

Deep in thought, he almost missed Andrew's polite brush against his mind.

" _Sir, Paul just left the house_."

" _Thank you, Andrew._ "

" _Sir, there's a bit of a storm…?_ "

Jean's head snapped up, finally registering the short intervals between bouts of deep bass rumbles reverberating through the house. Moving swiftly, he flew down the stairs and out the door, barely giving Andrew a nod as he passed.

Outside was a tempest, winds whipping rain nearly horizontal as Jean stood on the porch, centering himself and searching for Paul's presence. There was just the barest flash, towards the eastern beachfront.

" _Sir, do you wish our help in finding him?_ "

" _I'll manage, but thank you, Andrew._ "

He took off for the beach, the weather proving almost a match for his supernatural gift of flight.

The waves were crashing high against the low dunes as he searched for Paul. Knowing it useless to try his voice, he called again mind to mind.

" _Paul, please, let me help you._ "

" _I DON'T WANT YOUR HELP! JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!_ "

Try as the young vampire might, he couldn't conceal his desperation. Jean could sense the lie, knew the lost soul needed to be proved wrong, shown that someone truly wanted him.

He also tipped off his location, and Jean almost laughed at the irony. In his flight, Paul had gone towards the closest thing to his old home – the city pier filled with carnival rides. Not quite the old Santa Carla boardwalk, but pretty damn close. Even shuttered against the storm, the pier lights must have called to him.

Straining against the wild wind, Jean made for the pier, landing towards the outer tip by the Ferris wheel. Rain whipped his sodden robe, driving like pellets against his pale chest, but he stood stone still, listening, straining to sense his dear ange.

So close, he knew he was nearly on top of his frightened child, the link bright and strong as he stood at the end of the pier. Casting around, he finally saw his friend, huddled in a corner at the far edge of deck, the railings and carny shed offering no shelter from the battering wind and rain.

Moving so slowly he was nearly crawling, Jean made his way to Paul, creeping up to put his back between the storm and his friend. Ever so gently, he wrapped himself around the young vampire, sheltering him from the brunt of the weather.

"Paul, I'm here. Please let me help you."

"YOU CAN'T...I…can't…I couldn't help them…they needed me and I couldn't help them…it's all my fault."

"Sweet ange, I know you did what you could. You can't blame yourself for what happened to the others. It was all the humans' fault, you know that."

Paul lunged, laying Jean flat as he roared in anguish, the storm pounding at them, drowning out the painful noise.

"THEY WERE KIDS! I COULD HAVE KILLED THEM IN ONE BLOW AND THEY TOOK MY WHOLE FAMILY!"

"Paul, please…you couldn't have known what traps they laid."

"I COULD HAVE SAVE THEM! I COULD… But… I didn't…it's all my fault…you don't want me, I ruin everything…Max was right…I'm worthless…" Paul slumped but bucked suddenly when Jean tried to comfort him. Pulling from Jean's grasp he screamed again.

"DON'T TOUCH ME! YOU DON'T WANT ME! YOU'RE JUST LIKE ALL THE REST…YOU'LL LEAVE ME…everybody leaves me…"

Jean sighed, reaching up to pull Paul close, only to have the boy scream again, trying to push away. They rolled across the deck, Paul pushing and fighting as he tried to break free from Jean's slowly tightening hold.

In the end, Jean had the advantage, holding Paul close as the younger vampire screamed and writhed under him, the storm raging on around them. Time seemed to still, Jean's senses narrowing to the weight of Paul's pain flooding his mind, the sound of his agony pouring out, the press of Paul's body as he thrashed, trying to move both towards and away from Jean's comfort, and the flash of bright lightning in the deep night, setting everything to a strobe-like vignette, the smell of ozone thick in the air.

Gently, Jean started a litany of love and comfort aimed at Paul's fractured mind, songs and words wrapped in the memories he'd treasured and saved, images of their times together; walking the boardwalk hand in hand, the thrill of a shared hunt where Jean drove the terrified prey towards a laughing Paul, a sparkling tiara Paul had found deep in the old hotel offered tenderly, Jean's gift of a vintage guitar in return, sitting on the sand simply enjoying the stars and sea and each other's company.

Paul's tortured wail was fit to break Jean's heart.

" **NO!**  I'm nothing…you can't mean it! YOU DON'T WANT ME, I'M NOTHING…I RUIN EVERYTHING!"

Jean reached out, turning Paul to face him. Around them, the storm finally blew itself out, rolling east and out to sea.

"I don't believe you, ange. You are light and joy. Bright moonlight on sand, tang of fresh blood on your tongue, flash of lightning in a bottle. Mon étoile filante*, you are my love. In my eyes, you are priceless." [*My falling star]

As he spoke, he again bathed Paul's mind with tenderness, and slowly, Paul opened up, mind unfurling as his body stilled. Shielded by the curtain of Jean's soaked jet locks, he stared up in wonder, eyes bright and tinged pink with unshed tears.

" _You really…want me…even now?_ " the timid thread of thought flickered in his mind.

Jean smiled at his shooting star; kissing his forehead, one eyelid and the other, all as light as the brush of a petal.

"Always and forever, dearest. I know you hurt, but if you let me, I will share your burden, and lighten it as I can."

Paul's breath hitched, a watery smile finally gracing his lips. He reached up slowly, cupping Jean's cheek.

"My prince come to save me…does that make me the dude in distress?"

"You have fought stronger dragons than any storybook princess, dear one." He sketched as much of a bow as he could perched over his friend, before lifting his head to smile softly.

"Allow me the honor of standing by your side, ready to defend you and share your battles for the rest of time."

Paul's eyes crinkled, shadow of his trademark grin ghosting his lips.

Jean's smile was radiant as he uncurled, pulling Paul upright along with him. Laughing, he brushed the blonde's lank hair away from his face. Paul looked himself over, sighing.

"I guess I did get a little ripe, hmm?"

"Will you let me help you clean what the storm didn't manage to wash off, ange?"

Paul stuck out his tongue, making a rude face.

Jean bit his own lip, trying not to laugh. "There may be a few dead buzzards in your wake."

Paul glared for a minute before laughing weakly. "Yeah, I probably deserve that. How did you put up with me?"

"Love, ange. Because I love you, even when you're not sure you love yourself."

Holding his arms open, Jean tilted slowly toward his dearest, smiling when Paul leaned in, returning the embrace. The subtle change in the sky caught his eye, and he pulled away reluctantly.

"We'd best head home, ange. Would you like to come back sometime when this place is open?"

Paul glanced around, a wistful look on his face. "Maybe later, yeah?"

Standing, Jean offered Paul a hand, and they both took to the sky to beat the encroaching dawn home, the last few stars twinkling brightly as they went.

…...................

 


	3. The stars come out at night

Paul, courtesy of Jean K.

.....................................................................

Ch.3 – the stars come out at night

….................................................................

Warnings: M/M romance, depression/PTSD, some violence/gore, rated T

…..................................................................

"This way, ange, I think we just have time to clean you up before we sleep."

"Do I have to?"

Jean chuckled, pulling his wet, bedraggled friend close.

"Well, I would much prefer you did if you want to sleep next to me today. And Claudette has already burned your sheets, I'd rather she not take mine as well."

Paul sighed deeply. "Wait – why are we headed towards your kitchen?"

Jean winked. "To clean you up, of course."

"I'm not fitting in the sink, man."

Jean was trying hard not to laugh. "No, ange, you won't. But we have something that will work."

Coming through the swinging door, they found an old steel clothes-wash tub sitting on the floor, with towels, soap, and robes set out on the counter. Jean sent silent thanks to Claudette, who responded with a wry mental chuckle.

Paul stopped still for a moment, eyeing the small tub warily.

"I'm not fitting in that either."

Jean snorted in amusement. "Just stand in it, darling. I need something to collect the runoff. Do you need help undressing?"

Paul glanced at Jean, then wrapped his arms around his middle, curling in on himself.

"…no…"

Giving his charge a soft look, Jean grabbed one of the towels, laying it on the stove opposite the sink. He put a gentle hand on Paul's shoulder, motioning at the towel.

"Paul, why don't you turn this way and undress, then wrap the towel around your waist. I'll face the sink. You let me know when you're ready."

Paul nodded slowly, watching out the corner of his eye as Jean turned towards the sink, turning on the water and letting it run into a large pot.

Jean grabbed one of the washcloths, wetting it in the pot and wiping his own face off while he waited for Paul's signal.

"…ok…" came very softly, almost unheard as Jean added more hot water to the pot.

Glancing over his shoulder, Jean smiled and nodded, lifting the pot and carrying it over to place on the floor near the tub. Paul stood, towel tightly wrapped around his middle, still slumped and shaking slightly.

His skin and hair carried the dregs of feeding still, though less than before they were caught in the rainstorm. Jean picked up a large sponge, soaking it thoroughly. Standing before Paul, he lay a light hand on his shoulder, catching his eye.

"May I clean you? Would you rather do it yourself?"

Paul blinked slowly, breath catching.

"…you…you can do it…"

Giving his friend a glowing smile, Jean started on Paul's shoulders, wiping gently and squeezing the sponge to let the water run down. Lightly unwinding an arm to wash down it, moving to a lean chest and down the other arm he continued on, pausing only to rewet the sponge then sliding it tenderly around to Paul's back. He chatted about the storm, about what Paul might like to do the following night, what clothes he might like to wear, slowly drawing the other man out of himself, and though the answers came slow and quiet, he was glad they came out at all.

Once Paul was completely wet, he gathered up the soap, caressing his nervous charge as he lathered him up. Jean could feel the tension leaking away under smooth muscles as he continued working, and his dead heart clenched in happiness.

After scrubbing down Paul's legs, he handed his friend a soapy washcloth, indicating he should step out of the tub.

"Ange, why don't you do your face while I dump the old water? Then I can wash your hair and rinse you and we'll be done." The sun was definitely creeping over the horizon, he could see his charge starting to tire, weaving a bit as his eyes slid shut for longer and longer periods.

Nodding slowly, Paul allowed him to help him step out of the small tub, staring at the washcloth and blinking owlishly before wiping his face.

Ready once again, he helped Paul back in and started sluicing his hair, gathering one of his favorite shampoos and scrubbing his scalp soothingly. He could feel Paul's head bobbing with his efforts, and the man almost fell back in to him in his fatigue, only to startle and catch himself.

"It's alright, ange. I'm here, we're safe. I'm almost done. We'll rinse you off and find our rest."

He felt the slow nod, and moved quickly to rinsing. Gathering up a thick towel, he rubbed Paul lightly, bringing the now slightly damp towel to cover the soaking one around Paul's waist. Wrapping it securely, he held it as he tugged the damp one down to let it slosh into the tub.

"Alright, ange, let's get you upstairs." Grabbing a robe, he wrapped it around Paul's shoulders, and helped the groggy man out of the tub and up to his room. Pulling out two pairs of silk pajama pants, he offered the black to his friend.

"Here, love. Do you want help?"

Paul was clearly succumbing to the day, swaying a bit before sitting down hard on the bed. A faint sigh escaped him and he bobbed his head. Jean bent to place Paul's feet in the pants, sliding them up till they met the bottom edge of the towel.

"Lean on me and stand up, we'll have you sorted in a moment."

Paul placed heavy hands on Jean's shoulders, leaning over as Jean helped heave him up. Quick as a flash, he pulled the pants up and towel away, standing to help Paul shuck the robe off and easing his friend down in the bed.

Peeling out of his own clothes he slid red silk pants on, climbing in next to his dearest. Nothing in all his years could match his joy as an arm slid over his chest, a damp head following to nestle on his arm, the rest of a very solid body curling over his as Paul went slack, overcome by the weight of the day. Kissing Paul's forehead lovingly, he let himself drift away.

…..

Jean awoke the next evening, pleased to find their positions unchanged, though he had not expected it to be otherwise. He watched over Paul as he lay caught in sun-sleep and exhaustion from the stress and pain he'd been carrying since the incident.

Caressing long, golden locks idly, he felt his friend start to stir, freeze for a moment, only slowly start to ease into his touch again. Paul spoke softly, the words nearly buried the way he was curled into Jean's chest.

"…why…why do all this for me?"

"You deserve kindness and love, mon étoile filante*. You did nothing that merited such terrible pain and loss. It is a gift to show you how much of a treasure you truly are." [*my falling star]

Paul clutched tighter to Jean, shoulders shaking as he wept pale rose tears. Singing an old French lullaby faintly, Jean caressed his love's back reassuringly. Eventually the minor storm passed, Paul relaxing again, even moving to brush across Jean's chest with a tentative hand. Jean lifted it gently to his lips, kissing knuckles as teasingly as he had the fine court ladies in centuries past. He was rewarded with a quiet, good-humored snort, as long fingers grasped his.

"Would you like to get dressed, ange? I've been informed there could be breakfast if we're inclined."

Sighing slightly, Paul nodded into Jean's chest. "That…sounds good."

Jean coughed a laugh, and Paul looked at him questioningly. "I've been corrected. I am prohibited from enjoying breakfast, as punishment for leaving the kitchen in such a terrible state. You, however, are an angel in need of spoiling and invited to enjoy as much waffles and whipped sweet cream as you can stomach."

Jean gave Paul an amused side-eye, smirk twitching his lips. With pale smile, Paul huffed a bit of a laugh, growing surer as Jean joined in.

"They have you beat, hmm?"

Paul's eyes flashed with humor. Jean smiled back, kissing the other man on the forehead.

"I am completely whipped, helpless, and in my own household, no less. You see the lack of respect I must endure."

Jean raised a hand, resting the back of it against his forehead dramatically, side-eyeing Paul and waggling a brow. Now Paul snorted, body shaking with laughter at his friend's antics.

"Yeah, such a terrible life you live here. Must be rough, man." Paul waved his hand at the elegant bedroom, with rich wallpaper, antique furnishings and a finely carved bed layered with velvet and silk covers.

"Hmm, well, perhaps it's not a total hardship…"

Jean grinned again, sitting up and pulling Paul along with him.

"So, clothes? Or shall we go naked and cause poor Claudette's kind heart to burst in flames of shock?"

"I dunno, man. Claudette seemed pretty chill. Probably give Andrew fits though. Maybe we should?"

Jean cackled, pleased at the return of Paul's innate mischievousness.

"Another time? I'm afraid he'll be forewarned now." Jean winked. "I thought perhaps tonight we could go for a longer ride, follow the coast down towards Corpus Christi?"

Ducking his head, Paul smiled. "That sounds good."

"Come then, we're of a size, let me find you something delicious to wear."

Paul shrugged. "OK, whatever floats your boat there. No frilly shit though."

Jean groaned, clutching his chest theatrically. "The tragedy, the utter senselessness! To have a canvas so beautiful inhabited by such a barbarian!"

Paul stood up, laughing softly, eyes bright. Jean followed him up, moving around to the dressers and wardrobe, pulling out several pants and shirts and flinging them at the bed.

"Pick what you like, ange. I'm sure it will suit you. I have silk unders if you want?"

Paul gave him an odd look, reaching for a pair of black jeans and matching tank.

"What for?" he smiled as Jean rolled his eyes.

"Philistine."

"Frilly prince."

They glanced at each other, eyes flashing for a moment before laughing together. Jean grabbed a few things as well before turning his back, pulling on silk boxers and a pair of black acid-wash jeans, adding a white tank to counterpoint his friend.

Turning back, he saw Paul was dressed, eyes bright with a hint of wicked humor. Jean winked back, sliding his hands down his own torso and giving a little shimmy.

The blonde howled appreciatively and moved around the bed; arm lifted in invitation. Jean slotted himself in, gripping Paul's far hip and bumping the near one with his own.

"Ready to go, darling?"

"Hell yeah! I'm jonesing for a good sugar high."

Making their way down to the dining room, they were greeted by Andrew, his lips twitching in a faint smile as they sat down next to each other at the long table.

"Master. Mr. Paul, may I say you're looking exceptionally well tonight." He disappeared into the kitchen.

Jean and Paul exchanged glances as he left.

"That butler-speak for 'Glad you don't stink now'?"

Jean snickered. "I assure you he is entirely sincere in his compliment."

"Oh, I'm sure of that too." Paul smirked back.

Andrew reemerged, bearing plates stacked high, the aroma of warm sweet bread filling the room. He put a plate heaped with waffles that dripped with fresh whipped cream in front of Paul, pausing to stand, second plate held almost as high as his eyebrow, next to Jean.

Jean cast an amused glance up. 'Yes?"

Putting the plate in front of his master, Andrew bowed. "You've been forgiven for last night's trespasses. Providing it doesn't happen again…" He winked, slipping back out, returning quickly to fill their cups with fragrant chicory coffee laced with heavily with the scent of almond and vanilla. Placing the carafe near Jean, he bowed and took his leave.

Alone with Paul, Jean glanced at his friend to find him happily occupied with conquering his over-filled plate. Smiling, he started in on his own, pausing now and then to sip at the steaming coffee. Watching Paul, he scooped a finger into his own melting cream, reaching to tap his friend's nose with it.

Paul went slightly cross-eyed for a moment, and Jean laughed out loud. Reaching out, he turned Paul's face gently, leaning in to kiss with exaggerated flourish to clean the cream off.

Paul's eyes flashed in humor, soft smile ghosting his lips. Scooping up a dab from his own plate, he left a streak across Jean's cheek, he paused, locking gaze with Jean for the briefest moment, breaking away to slowly clean the swipe off with feather-light kisses and the barest brush of tongue.

Jean bowed his head, momentarily overcome at his friend's attention. He could feel Paul pulling away.

"…I'm sorry…"

Quickly Jean turned, sad to see Paul retreating in to himself.

"Ange, please look at me. I love your touch."

Paul frowned, glancing first out of the corner of his eye, facing him reluctantly when Jean kept the gentle smile aimed at him. Quick as a wink, Jean plopped a finger-tip worth of cream on Paul's full lips.

Without thinking, Paul stuck his tongue out to clean off the treat, stopping mid-swipe as realization hit, his eyebrows lifting almost comically as he froze, unsure whether to continue.

"No, no, it's alright. Watching you is at least as good. Maybe better."

Paul stared at Jean a moment, finished licking his lips and ducked his head, almost shy. Jean chuckled, nearly missing Paul's coy glance as the blonde man dragged his own finger through the dregs of his breakfast, quickly brushing it across Jean's lips, then sucking it clean.

Jean froze watching Paul's finger, only to smile widely as Paul's gaze traveled back up away from his sweetly-coated lips. He waggled his eyebrows suggestively at his friend.

"Shall I lick myself clean, or would you like to assist…?"

Paul returned his smile, seeming to gather himself before leaning in, his hands cupping Jean's face, drawing him closer till their lips met.

Jean let Paul take the lead, responding with careful tenderness to Paul's tentative kisses. Far too soon, the cream was gone, though Paul seemed at least as reluctant as he was to stop.

Finally pulling back, Paul glanced at the plates and back to Jean.

"Do you want more?"

"Dearest ange, I would be delighted, though no sugary treat will ever be as sweet as your lips on mine."

Paul looked stunned, going still as Jean gazed tenderly back. Jean could only watch helplessly as Paul's face crumpled, the blonde turning away. Very slowly, Jean turned his chair, and Paul's, snaking his hands around his friend to draw him close, cradling him as he trembled.

"…how…can…you..."

"Don't finish that thought, dearest one. You are a treasure."

"I don't deserve any of this…"

"Well, ange, I believe you do. So, you will have to best me to even start to change my mind, and it would be a fruitless endeavor, for I never will."

Paul sighed heavily, still curled into Jean's chest. "You're just too stubborn to see."

Jean snorted, giving his charge a tight squeeze. "That is an entirely too ironic a statement coming from you, dearest ange." Kissing the top of Paul's head, he pulled the blonde away from his chest, catching a glance from pale blue eyes.

"Now, it is a beautiful night, and far too good to spend cooped up, unless you really wish it?" Paul considered a moment, shaking his head. "Excellent. Let's take that ride then, yes? I'll procure us some jackets."

Standing, he pulled Paul along with him towards the foyer, as he paused to rummage through the coat-closet. "Could I cajole you into some velvet, mon ange?" Chuckling at the amused snort that passed for a response, he kept going.

"Here we go, then!" He pulled out a tailored leather marine coat, handing it to Paul while putting on a high-collared one that was festooned with safety pins and belle epoque trinkets. Paul watched quietly as he put it on.

"You kept it."

Jean looked up, then smoothed his hands down the jacket, smiling.

"Of course, I did! The sweetest and most loving person I know gave it to me. I'll have it till it wears away to dust, and then keep the dust in a jewelry box, safe for all eternity."

Paul bobbed his head, clearly a bit moved by Jean's statement.

"Although…it does look better with one of my ruffled shirts. Perhaps I should go change…"

Making a strangled noise, Paul grabbed his hand, pulling him out of the house.

"And you're the one that told me the night was too nice to waste! Man, if I let you start changing clothes we'll never leave!"

"Why ange, how could you ever say such a thing!" Jean chuckled as he was pulled along towards the garage.

"Experience?" Paul snorted, throwing open the carriage doors.

A couple of bikes, a Benelli and a Harley, sat waiting; the deep, almost black, red on both sparkling in the light of the garage lamps. Jean tossed the Harley keys to Paul, mounting the Italian and starting it with a quiet purr. Even the Harley was well muffled, as Jean preferred bikes that didn't announce their presence a mile ahead of their arrival.

Paul shook his head. "I still can't believe you'd ride an import."

Jean laughed. "I'm an import darling, what did you expect? And you should be careful – those words may come back to haunt you."

Realization hit, and Paul's eyes nearly bugged out of his head, as Jean cackled and took off.

"Keep up if you can, ange!" he called back as he raced down the street. Sure enough, the sound of Paul's bike was quickly at his shoulder, and he turned to meet a challenging grin.

Racing the night, the two followed the highway that wove along the shoreline, heading south as the moon crept overhead. The ride was fairly quiet, and they enjoyed the night and each other's company, though Jean could sense Paul was still unsettled.

Reaching the outskirts of Corpus Christi, they stopped at a dive bar, their clean, sleek bikes out of place though there were only a couple of well-worn vehicles littering the lot. Jean glanced around, smirking as he followed Paul into the dimly lit shack.

Cigarette smoke hung thickly as the pair walked up to the bar, feeling the heavy stares of a pair of patrons well in their cups in the otherwise empty bar. Jean had a sunny smile on his face as the thick-set bartender approached, scowling.

"A couple of doubles of Jack, please, and we'll take the bottle too."

The barkeep frowned but set up two rocks glasses, pouring whiskey in both then pulling the pour top out of the bottle.

"That'll be ten bucks."

Jean fished a wad of cash out of his pocket, peeling off a ten slowly. Paul grabbed the bottle as he picked up the glasses, nodding amiably as they headed to a table.

Jean nudged Paul as they sat down next to each other, facing the room. "Things seem a little quiet here, hmm?"

Paul drained his glass, refilling it before responding. Eyes flashing with mischief, he smirked back at Jean, holding his glass high as he rested his elbow on the table. "What 'ya have in mind?"

"Just a little light entertainment. Mind if I take the lead?"

Paul's grin turned feral and he emptied his glass with a flourish, Jean returning his toast as he tossed his own back. Setting his glass down with thunk Jean reached over to throw an arm around his friend and draw him close. Turning his head to nuzzle into Paul's neck, he licked a stripe up from clavicle to ear.

"Let me know when the fireworks start." Jean purred, tugging lightly at an earlobe with his teeth.

"Oh, they're about to." Paul whispered, groaning as Jean sucked gently at the base of his neck. He felt Jean grin into his skin at the sound of a chair scraping and one of the shit-faced patrons starting to swear.

"Y'all fa****s ain't welcome here!"

Paul chuckled. "Aww, this place ain't so bad. Feel right at home. Might just stay awhile."

Jean's hand strayed across his chest, sliding lower.

"THAT'S IT! We're gonna show you shitsuckers just how welcome y'are!"

Jean turned his head towards the men, smiling wickedly. "How sweet of you to offer, I'm afraid you boys just aren't our type."

Enraged, the two barflies rushed them. Jean gave their table a shove, sending it sliding across the floor at speed, knocking one of the two down hard, though he started scrambling to get up almost immediately.

The other one paused, moving forward once he saw his friend was OK. Paul caught his wild swing with ease, laughing madly as he squeezed hard on the man's fist. The guy crumpled to his knees, crying out and clawing at Paul's hand, trying to pull it off as his bones ground painfully together.

Jean moved to the one that was just getting up after being toppled by the table. He smiled brightly. "Shall we dance?" The man took a swing, missing by a mile as Jean leaned swiftly out of the way. Looking very confused, the man tried again, missed again, and nearly tripped over himself as Jean tapped him lightly on the back of the head.

When he turned back around, he looked like a mad bull, meaty face red and sweating with anger and inebriation. He ran at Jean with open arms, ready to tackle him, only for Jean to grab his hands and twirl him around, trapping him tightly with his own crossed arms.

Jean leaned over the man's large back to whisper breathily in his ear. "Darling, I'm having so much fun. Does your boyfriend know how excited you've gotten flirting with me?" Roaring, the man tried to pull free, and Jean released his hands, kicking him in the ass and sending him to the floor face first.

Paul had let go of his erstwhile assailant, smirking down as the man cradled his now slightly broken hand. As the guy stood, he saw Jean whispering in his friend's ear, and made to help. Paul grabbed his shoulder and spun him around, popping him in the nose. There was a thick crunch and blood poured out, the man falling to his knees again as he cupped his face.

Paul licked his knuckles, smiling. His eyes flashed to Jean just as the bartender hit his raven-haired friend hard across the back with a baseball bat. The bat broke in half at the impact, Jean stumbling slightly at the blow.

Jean spun swiftly, only to see a roaring blonde blur descend, ripping the bartender's arm off and starting to dismantle the man piece by piece, blood spraying from ceiling to floor. Sighing inwardly, he picked up the shank of the broken bat, walked over to the drunk still sprawled face down on the floor, spearing him through.

The last human made a pitiful sound, trying to get up and away from the carnage. Grabbing up the tip of the bat, Jean sauntered over as the man tried to back away, eyes glassy with fear. Bringing the club down hard, Jean crushed the man's skull, the body dropping to floor like a puppet with cut strings.

Coming back to Paul, he called to him softly, not wanting to startle him. Paul was vamped out, growling and pulling loops of intestine out of the body cavity like a magician's endless handkerchief trick.

"Paul… ange, come back to me, dearest."

Very slowly, he wrapped his arms around Paul, talking softly as the other man startled and froze. He grasped Paul's hands, pulling them open to let the offal drop, lifting one to his own lips to kiss it gently and lick a bit of the blood away. He felt it as Paul gasped, shifting in his arms.

"Jean?"

"I'm here, ange. I'm right here. It's all good, love."

"…I…I'm sorry…"

"Shh…it's fine. Let's clean up and leave now. Can you help me with that?"

"…yeah…I can…"

"That's wonderful, ange. Here, let's grab some bottles and spray them around, alright? Soak everything. Come on, I'll get you started."

They walked around the bar, Jean grabbing a bottle of clear liquor and pulling the pour top off. Taking a swig, he offered it to Paul, smiling gently. Paul returned it with a watery one of his own, upending the bottle and drinking half of it.

Chuckling softly, Jean handed him another open bottle. "Go start at the front." As Paul walked back around the bar, he busied himself setting up a number of bottles on the bar, ready to spread around.

Jean turned off the tiny neon window sign, locking the front door and shoving a pack of matches into his pocket. The two worked efficiently, moving towards the back door as they emptied bottle after bottle, splashing the walls and leaving trails across the floor.

Standing in the doorway, Jean took a deep swig off the last bottle, offering it to Paul who did the same. He tossed it into the bar, pulling out the matches, lighting the whole pack and pitching it in as they closed the door. They moved quickly to their bikes, driving away with lights out as the fire took off, engulfing the small building.

Heading back north they rode for quite a while in silence, till Jean indicated a detour. As the highway curled around small towns and closer to the water, they pulled off, parking their bikes behind some scrub and walking to a small strip of beach.

Taking advantage of the water, Jean drew Paul to the shoreline, helping him clean his face and arms off. Paul picked at his pants a bit, the material getting stiff as the blood dried.

"Don't worry about it, ange. They're just clothes. If Claudette can't get them clean, we'll just get more. I'd love to take you shopping."

Paul just looked pained, turning away from the water to sit down on a short grassy rise nearby, resting his head in his hands. Jean followed, sitting close, sliding an arm gently around the troubled blonde, rubbing his back in slow circles. Paul shook his head slightly, muttering into his hands, though Jean could hear it clearly.

"I'm sorry. I know I went off."

"What happened to you?"

Paul lifted his head, face twisted in sorrow. "I dunno, man. I just saw that guy there with the broken bat, it was like Marko all over again. Everything went red til I heard your voice."

Jean leaned over, kissing Paul's temple. "I'm honored, ange, that you would be so protective of me."

"You just…I don't…" Paul dragged his fingers through his hair, sharp nails scratching skin as he grimaced. "I couldn't help him…I feel angry all time; I hate myself for letting him die. For letting them all die."

Jean moved, maneuvering so his legs were on either side of Paul's, pulling the younger vampire in, letting him twist around to curl into his chest. Holding him close, Jean kissed the top of his head, rocking gently as he rubbed Paul's back.

"Would you like to tell me what happened? We have time enough."

Paul took in a shaky breath, expelling it slowly as he clutched Jean tighter.

"…OK."

 

 

 


	4. Never Let You Go

Ch.4 Never let you go

…......................................

Warnings: M/M romance, depression/PTSD/triggered outburst, rated T

…...................................

Waking up with Paul in his arms was a gift, one Jean hoped he'd have for centuries to come. After a long night of tearful revelations, letting Paul spend the day alone was out of the question, though Jean would have offered his comfort regardless.

Feeling the pressure of the sun as it made its slow path down the late afternoon sky, he cradled his tormented love, humming softly. Paul had neither the age nor the reserves to wake this early without dire threat, and Jean was grateful for the time it gave him to mull over Paul's terrible story.

His first feeling was an overwhelming anguish, for Paul, and for his brothers, who died so horrifically at the hands of infants. Bitter anger at those whose rejection of the ultimate gift caused such suffering. Rage, black and seething, for the pair of children responsible for his love's torture and the death of Paul's best friend. For the maker, who also met his untimely end, Jean felt nothing at all.

Sitting quietly in the deep shade of the room, stroking his sweet ange's hair, wine red eyes blazed as Jean plotted a fitting end for those miserable disposables. Paul started to stir as the sun dipped below the horizon, squeezing Jean tight as he came awake.

He gave a pale smile, and Jean returned it with a transcendent one of his own, tilting to kiss Paul's forehead.

"So…what now?"

"Whatever you like, ange. If you want, we can just stay here tonight. I'd be happy to read or sing to you, or if you prefer, we can go see what's on the television downstairs. I won't rush you to do anything."

Paul blew out a ragged breath, still clinging to Jean.

"TV? A horror movie?"

Jean chuckled, kissing the top of Paul's head.

"I'm sure we can find something…I think Claudette may share your bad taste in cinema."

"Hey! 'The Mutilator' is awesome!"

"That just happens to have lots of scantily clad ladies."

"And wicked murder scenes! It's not just boobs!"

Paul was laughing now, and Jean gave a dramatic, long suffering sigh, coupled with a wink.

"Well, if we must. Shall I see if Claudette has popcorn?"

"Now we're talking! Maybe we can order pizza too?"

Jean lay a gentle hand on Paul's back, eyes bright with joy at Paul's enthusiasm.

"Of course. I suppose we must have the full experience."

Paul sat up on the edge of the bed, reaching for the jeans he'd worn the night before. He slipped out of his pajama bottoms and in to the pants in a moment. Jean got dressed as well, only giving a quick glance at his charge as he donned jeans and a black sleeveless band shirt.

"Hey, wasn't I wearing that last night?"

Jean laughed. "I suppose so. Do you want it back?" He pulled at the bottom of the shirt, ready to take it off.

"Nah, it looks good on you." Paul said softly. Jean lowered his arms, smiling at the blonde.

"I can find you another?"

"I'm fine."

"Ange, you are ~always~ fine."

Jean winked as Paul grinned back at him. They headed down the stairs to the drawing room, getting comfortable on the settee in front of the television. Andrew came in with a small stack of tapes, leaving them on the low table.

"I'll be back shortly with pizza. What would you like to drink?

"Beer, thanks!"

"Make that two, and bring some extras as well. Thank you, Andrew."

"Very good sir."

As the butler left, Jean gestured to the stack of movies. "Your choice, ange. I'm sure I can manage to endure any of them."

Paul cackled, riffling through the pile. "Here we go, 'Deadly Spawn'! Teenagers and aliens!"

"Sounds lovely." Jean deadpanned, smirking at Paul when he glanced over, rolling his eyes at Jean's sarcasm.

Paul put the TV on, turning still as the strains of pop music played, ladies in golden leotards dancing in sync to the latest hit. He turned to Jean with puppy dog eyes.

"Can we watch this first?"

"Of course, ange. We have all night to see aliens eating helpless teenagers."

Paul gave a short howl and raced back to the sofa, already swaying happily to the music as he grabbed a pillow and curled up next to Jean. Paul was rapt, eyes glued to the dancers and the headliner band til the show ended. Finally turning his attention, he gave Jean a shy smile.

"Max never let me watch this in his shop."

Jean frowned at his memories of Max. "Just one of the many reasons I found Max to be an utterly worthless being." He carded fingers in Paul's hair, leaning in to kiss his temple. "That he could treat one of his own making with such casual cruelty and disdain was unforgivable."

"I don't know…I didn't listen real well, and I was always breaking stuff."

Jean's face turned serious, and he grasped Paul's shoulders, turning the blonde to face him.

"You listen to me, Paul. Nothing you ever did warranted the way Max treated you. Words of justification for his actions will never pass your lips again, understand? Never again."

Paul stared at him, eyes watering as he nodded.

It was Jean's turn to favor Paul with a gentle smile. "Ange, you're so much better than he ever gave you credit for. You didn't deserve to be hurt so. Let me help you see how wonderful you truly are."

Jean could see Paul's throat working, though no words got out. Seeing him start to shake, Jean pulled him close and rubbing soft circles into his back.

"Shh…it's alright, ange. I know it is hard for you still. We'll get through this together."

A note of sadness tickled his mind, and despite it he was glad his friend was sharing his feelings unprompted. Determined, he sent all the love and adoration he could back through their mental link. It took a while, but eventually Paul pulled away, wiping his eyes and looking at the tv.

"…we could watch the movie now?"

Jean squeezed his shoulder gently. "Of course. I wish to see if these aliens are as badly made as the last film we watched."

"Hey! 'Killer Tomatoes' is a classic!"

Jean snorted. "I believe we may have different ideas of what constitutes a classic. Perhaps you'll allow me to put on one of mine after this?"

"No singing in French or something - that's kinda heavy after a good slasher movie."

"There is singing, but it's in English, if that helps."

"Well… alright. It's only fair."

Paul put the tape in and got the movie started as Andrew came in with a plate stacked high with pizza slices. The pair sat together, commenting on the nonsensical behavior and outfits of the aliens, the 'victims' and the horrible effects.

Paul at one point threw popcorn at the screen, laughing hysterically as one of the overacting rubber-suited 'aliens' died in a comical scene. When Jean snorted in annoyance, he scooted down, snickering and eating the kernels as he picked them up off the floor. He grinned back at his raven-haired friend, displaying a mouthful of half-chewed food as Jean rolled his eyes.

The movie ended with the usual cliché of good guys winning. Paul moaned theatrically.

"I wanted the aliens to win!"

"They did seem marginally more intelligent than the humans. That would have been a far more satisfactory outcome. Are you ready for my movie now?"

Paul sighed. "Alright. What are we watching now?"

"The Wizard of OZ."

"Really? Isn't that a kids movie?"

"I'll have you know it was the first of an entire series of strange adventures that the author wrote. And one of the first movies ever shown in color. I saw it in New York when it first came out, back when going to see motion pictures was almost as fancy as seeing a Broadway show." Jean's eyes flashed in humor. "And the flying monkeys may remind me of someone…"

"HEY!" Paul smacked Jean with his pillow, only to stop with wide, almost fearful eyes. Jean met his trepidation with a wicked smile, pulling a pillow from behind his back and returning the blow. In a moment the two were completely lost in a flurry of cushioned fabric, soft whumping noises and laughter. Sadly, the pillows yielded to the onslaught, batting and filler leaking out of tortured seams to float around the room, catching in lampshades and hair.

"Oops."

Paul shook the empty pillow cover sadly, his blonde hair fluffed out with tufts of batting sticking all over. Jean snickered, tossing his empty cover at Paul's face, dragging him into an embrace in the distraction. Paul looked up with a soft smile as a gentle hand started picking pillow fluff out of his hair.

A quiet cough caught their attention, Andrew standing in the doorway with eyebrow raised, restrained smile twitching at the edge of his mouth.

"Thank goodness you're here, Andrew! You'd never believe, the pillows just exploded without warning. We're entirely traumatized."

Jean feigned alarm as Paul, still in his arms, laughed quietly into his chest.

"… _I'd never believe, indeed."_  Andrew's eyes gleamed with amusement; his mental comment edged with merriment of his own.

"Do you require any assistance, sir? A dustpan, perhaps?"

"A bit later, we're still recovering from this most terrible experience."

"Very good, sir." Andrew left just as quietly as he came, shaking his head at his master's antics.

"So…ready for another movie?"

Paul nodded, getting up to put the requested movie into the player. They settled back, Jean occasionally picking bits of fluff out of Paul's hair, and Paul returned the favor.

The end neared, Dorothy valiantly trying to save the Scarecrow from the fire set by the Wicked Witch. As she threw the bucket of water, Jean's eyes snapped to his friend. Paul was completely rigid, eyes wide as dinner plates as the witch started to scream and disappear into the ground.

Jean had barely the blink of an eye to react, reaching for his love as Paul threw himself backward, shrieking and flailing. Bottles and bowls went flying as the low table was flipped, Paul trapped in reliving the horror of his body dissolving in a bathtub full of holy water.

Andrew was at the door, moving swiftly to pull the low table out of the way.

" _ **TURN OFF THE DAMNED TELEVISION!**_ " Jean roared through their link, wrestling with Paul to hold his arms down, keep him from sending something flying that could actually injure himself or them.

Paul kept wailing mindlessly even after the tv was shut down, and Andrew moved quickly around the room, dimming lights, moving furniture, picking up bottles and plates and exiting without a sound, closing the door behind him.

In the dark, warm room, Jean held Paul tightly, the blonde's back to his chest. He pinned Paul's arms close, though the young vampire was still shaking, head flailing back and forth as he screeched, legs drumming the settee as visions so strong Jean could feel the flesh melting off his own bones flooded his mind through their mental bond.

Trying fruitlessly to gain Paul's attention, Jean heaved a sad sigh, reluctantly reaching out through their link.

" _ **PAUL, STOP.**_ "

The command had the desired effect, Paul's limbs going slack as the force of Jean's directive washed through the tortured mind. The nightmare was far from over though, as Paul drowned in the hell of triggered memories.

"Wake up, Paul. Wake up now."

More subtle this time, but still effective, the sire's command finally pulled Paul out from under the weight of his remembered torment. Panting raggedly, he lay trembling in Jean's arms, too stunned to speak. Suddenly he curled up, shaking hard as he pawed at Jean, grabbing and twisting till he was balled up on his lap, sobbing into his chest.

Wrapping gentle arms around his love, Jean sang a soft lullaby, rubbing slow circles on Paul's back.

" _Are you in need of anything, sir?"_

" _No, Andrew. We're good for now. My apologies for yelling earlier."_

" _Quite understandable, given the circumstances, sir. I can only say that he's doing remarkably well for coming through such an experience."_

" _Ah, you felt it too? My apologies again, I should have been faster to shield Claudette and yourself from his mind."_

" _Please don't fret on our behalf. It was rather eye-opening, truly. Do you have any plans?"_

" _As a matter of fact, I do. I imagine we'll be taking a trip before too long."_

" _Very good, sir. I'll make sure things are in place, ready to go when you are."_

" _Excellent. Thank you, Andrew."_

" _Of course, sir."_

Paul's sobbing had wound down slowly to soft hiccups, though he still clung to Jean tight enough to crack the ribs of a lesser being.

"Easy, ange. I'm here, you're safe."

Jean cupped Paul's chin, pulling gently till he could look Paul in the eyes. The younger vampire's face was spattered in pink-tinged tracks left by his tears, the ghosts of pain and fear still evident in pale blue eyes.

"Oh, ange. Is there anything that will make up for what I've done? Can you ever forgive me? I have hurt you, and I promised I never would."

Paul blinked, brows knitting in confusion, and when he spoke his voice was quiet and raspy from misuse. "…it was my fault? We were having fun…and…then I…"

"Oh, no, ange! You are not to blame, dearest one. I should have known better; it was all my fault for not considering how it might affect you."

Jean bent, kissing Paul on the forehead, wiping at tear tracks with a gentle thumb.

"This was all me, sweet child, and I fear I have done more harm than I can repair. If I've broken your trust, I will never forgive myself. Please tell me what I can do to make amends, if there even is a hope for such."

Paul moved to slide his arms around Jean's shoulders, burying his face in the crook of older vampire's neck. A bare whisper of strained voice escaped him.

"…please…don't let go?"

Jean's own chest hitched with emotion, and he embraced Paul in a nearly crushing grip.

"Never, sweet ange. You're mine to cherish for all eternity."

…..

After that, the evening went quietly, most of it spent wrapped around each other on the couch in the near-dark, Jean telling stories of his early life, Paul sharing some of the crazy stunts he and his brothers got up to. When memories threatened to overwhelm the blonde, Jean helped him pull back, singing saucy songs of old, making Paul shake with laughter and return the favor with some of the raunchier rock songs he knew.

With dawn creeping up, they ended where they began the night, tucked in to Jean's bed, Paul nestled against his chest, lazy fingers tracing the flats and curves of Jean's bare chest. Smiling down, Jean curled his arm around to plunge into the long blond locks, massaging gently, bringing a contented hum from the younger vampire.

Jean felt so content, he almost hated to intrude, but the events of the night left him even more sure that action was needed.

"Ange, may I ask you a question? You don't even have to answer right away, or at all, really. It's about those who attacked you, so if it makes you uncomfortable, please say so."

"…okay…you can ask…"

Jean embraced Paul, resting his cheek on the top of his love's head.

"What would you think of making them pay for their crimes against you and your family? Between the two of us, I feel sure we could extract a fitting retribution."

Beneath him, Jean felt Paul go tense, the hand that had been relaxed and playful became a hard grip, sharp nails digging into skin, slow breath now low growl that Jean felt more than heard. Pulling back, he saw Paul's face had turned fierce, brow deep, lips pulled back in a snarl that showed sharp teeth.

"Paul."

Deep red eyes turned to him, fiery and focused.

"We can do this. Together, we can make this happen. Do you want to?"

" **YES!** "

The angry growl came with a snap-and-click of fangs. There was such feral beauty about Paul, golden hair framing a face magnificent with rage and threat, Jean was nearly overcome at the sight.

That his love still had such fierce passion within him left him heady with hope. He cupped sharp cheeks, feeding the rampant gaze with savage glee.

"One more night, love, and then we can be off to bring these peasants pain like they've never known."

Paul's snarl slid into an inhuman grin, matching his own. Inflamed by their exchange, Jean closed the distance between them, his hands sliding to rest on Paul's broad shoulders as he brushed soft lips with his own.

Growling low, mouth open and inviting, Paul leaned in, eager for more contact. Jean cupped the back of his neck, pulling him close and capturing plush lips over and over again, near dizzy with the joy of it.

Paul went to lift a hand to Jean's face, suddenly freezing as he realized his nails were buried deep, blood oozing slowly from the rents in Jean's chest. He pulled back with a gasp, offending hand raised and shaking as dark blood dripped slowly down.

Relaxing, Jean smiled kindly as he grasped at it, giving a little lick at a blood-covered thumb before winking and moving it towards Paul's own mouth with a nod. Pale blue eyes went wide, then lowered and bled to red as Paul licked Jean's blood off his own fingers, tentatively at first, then with increasing relish.

Jean watched with ardent attention, eyes hooded as he watched lips and tongue clean all traces of blood off nimble fingers. All too soon, Paul was done, eyes blinking in pleasure, staying closed longer and longer as the dawn crept up, till it finally dragged him down to sun-sleep, leaving him sprawled across a chuckling Jean, who, making himself comfortable under his lovely Paul-shaped cover, followed his love into their daily oblivion.


	5. Cry Havoc

David

Cry Havoc

…...................................

Warnings – mild M/M relationship; explicit descriptions of torture.

FAIR WARNING – TORTURE/VIOLENCE

….............................

Despite Paul's eagerness for revenge, Jean decided it was best they arrived in Santa Carla as soon past sunset as possible, necessitating an over-day stop that was so frustratingly close that Paul was ready to take flight to arrive in the town before dawn. Only Jean's smooth talking convinced him to stay, to enter his old home town with enough night to recon and plan a proper execution.

Andrew drove past the welcome sign and pulled over by a beach, letting the two out into the deepening twilight as he made for their usual lodgings. Back on home turf, Paul looked almost lost, staring out towards the ocean as the sounds of happy humans rolled over them like the waves that lapped at the shore.

"Paul?" Jean called softly, trying not to startle the younger vampire.

Paul turned his head, but the look in his eyes was far away. He took off, walking swiftly away from the open beach. Moving towards the shops he scooted down a darkened alley, taking flight when his lift off was well hidden by darkened buildings.

Jean followed, keeping his charge in view with quiet concern. They were making for the bluff, the old lighthouse coming in to view as Paul sped onwards.

Landing lightly at the cliff edge, the shaggy blonde paused at the top of the rotting stairs, giving Jean time to catch up and move quietly to stand by his side. The stairs had finally fallen apart, ending only a few feet below the cliff. The remains of the rest could be seen jutting jaggedly from the water below, weathered wood slowly being devoured by mossy seaweed.

Unfazed, Paul simply hopped off the edge, touching down on the rocks below before disappearing from view. Jean trailed him, pausing at the cave's entrance to take in the scene. There was no light inside, and though his enhanced vision didn't really need it to maneuver, it made picking out details more difficult.

The air seemed stale and still, the feel of disuse about the place. Jean saw his friend picking his way through the open area, sending empty bottles spinning off to collide with other junk strewn about the floor. Picking up something, Paul lit it with the lighter in his pocket, dropping the trash into a barrel. Flickering light filled the cavern, and the blonde stood at the center, turning slowly as he surveyed the remains of his past life.

In the half-light, the large open space felt cramped, piles of trash, pieces of furniture, even bike parts and other odd debris littered the space. Paul fed more trash into the barrel, stoking the fire. Grabbing up more material, he lit another barrel, and suddenly the place was brighter, highlighting a whirlwind of destruction.

It looked like a storm had passed through, tearing the place apart. Broken bits of a once-grand chandelier lay strewn across a stone fountain, jagged shards half-covered in pieces of wood, cloth and old fishing nets. The few chairs and couches, even some bed frames, were tossed haphazardly about, looking like broken bodies as the sharp ends of frames and stuffing poked out of their mangled forms.

Standing in the midst of it, Paul looked just as broken. Jean moved up behind him, slowly turning his young friend around and pulling him into a gentle embrace. Trembling turned to shaking turned to wracking sobs, like a dam bursting, flooding Jean with shared pain as the finality of loss set in.

Soon they were kneeling, Jean holding Paul nearly on his lap as the blonde cried brokenly, clinging to him like a drowning man to a rock. Rubbing soft circles in Paul's back, Jean murmured gentle words, waiting patiently for the emotional storm to pass.

Something tickled Jean's awareness, and he felt they were not alone in the cave. He glanced casually around as he comforted Paul, straining his senses to identify the presence. Towards the back, someone moved in the shadows, and they weren't human.

He had only a moment, and the creature was on them, barreling into them at full speed, slashing and tearing as it went. It was all Jean could do to press Paul to the floor, protecting him and taking the brunt of the attack.

The assailant came around for another pass, but Jean was ready, pinning him with a brutal mental strike that left the wretch screaming and writhing even as it tried to get closer for another assault. Tense moments ticked by, as Paul, wrenched out of his breakdown, straightened up to look at the intruder.

He put a staying hand on Jean's arm, and Jean let up on the assault. The other vampire lay panting, slowly uncurling as the pain dissipated. He looked up, and he and Paul locked eyes, both staring in shock at the other.

"David?"

David's face slipped from monstrously vampiric to hauntingly human in an instant. His voice was rough and whisper quiet.

"…Paul? ..."

Paul was on him in an instant, nearly bowling David over in his eagerness. He wrapped him in a strangling hug, only for David to hold him back for a moment, to look at Paul with almost wonder.

David's hand slid up Paul's cheek, slipping into long, shaggy hair. The hand trembled a moment, David's pale blue eyes shining and tinged pink with unshed tears. Then Paul was crushed in fierce hug, David burying his face in his friend's golden mane, not even trying to hide the way he shook, as Paul returned his embrace with equal strength.

Jean stood quietly, watching the pair reconnect. It hurt to see Paul comforted by another, yet he couldn't begrudge either of them for their need.

For long minutes the two knelt, locked together. David was first to relax his hold, leaning back to look at his lost brother, curiosity on his face.

"How…how did you make it? I found where …where I thought they'd dumped you and Dwayne…there was nothing but ashes, burnt to dust by the sun."

"Jean found me, saved me…I wouldn't be here without him."

Paul got up, turning to smile at Jean, who dipped his head in acknowledgement, smiling back gently. David stood, looking him over.

"You feel familiar. You've been here before."

"Indeed. Paul has been a dear friend for many years now. It was my fortune to have been here in time to save him."

"Only him? What about Dwayne?"

Jean sighed, holding David's glare with a mild look. "Truthfully, David, what I found was a pile of charred pieces, heaps of ash, and a near-skeleton that held, by some miracle, a shred of life. It was all I could do to save one."

David held his gaze for a moment before frowning and dipping his head. "I guess I owe you thanks. For bringing Paul back."

Jean inclined his head. "Paul has been a light in my life, saving him has been a gift that has returned itself a thousand-fold." Paul beamed at him, and Jean couldn't help but return that glorious smile.

David watched with sharp eyes. "Why did you come home, Paul?"

Paul turned back to David, face suddenly hard as stone. "Revenge."

David gave him a cool look, eyebrow raising. "On who?"

"Those two kids – the ones that staked Marko, and…" Paul grimaced, eyes closing a moment as memory hit him. "…and nearly killed me."

David's face was ferocious, sharp teeth gleaming in a feral grin. "The frogs."

Paul's eyes bled to dark red, glowing unnaturally in the light of the cave as he returned the wicked smile.

David's face fell suddenly, surprise washing over his features. He reached towards Paul, but didn't touch him, his golden eyes scanning him for a moment, then turning towards Jean.

"What have you done?"

Jean favored him with a sympathetic look. "He was at the brink of oblivion, David. It took more than just human blood to bring him back, make him whole again. He is my child now."

David stared at Paul; his features etched with heartbreak for brief moment before being buried under a cool human façade. He turned away, patting his coat a moment before pulling out a pack of cigarettes, drawing one out and lighting up.

Paul watched, not hiding his own sorrow as he watched David walk further away. His shoulders drooped, and he wiped his face with a careless hand.

"So, you…two…have a plan?"

Coming to stand by Paul, Jean looked at David, now leaning against a wall where shreds of a huge poster hung haphazardly down. Laying a supportive hand on his friend's shoulder, Jean spoke up.

"They nearly succeeded in dissolving Paul in holy water. For their efforts we thought to return the favor. There are warehouses and a small bit of industry here. Surely one has something that will do the trick?"

David turned a cool smirk towards him, smoke trailing from flared nostrils. "I know just the place." He tossed the cigarette down, casually grinding it into the dirt.

"Ready to skin some frogs, Paul?"

If Paul's answering grin was weak, David appeared not to notice. He headed out the entrance without a pause.

Paul looked at Jean, and took a step to follow. Jean nodded, and giving him a gentle push, followed him out and up to the clifftop.

David was waiting, smoking again. He nodded at them both as they landed next to him.

"Remember that big auto shop out by Cabrillo?"

Paul chuckled suddenly. "Yeah! We grabbed some good shit from there!"

"We certainly did. You know they do their own chroming? Gotta have pretty big dip tanks to handle car bumpers and trim. Take a body pretty easy."

Paul was starting to get excited, leaning on his toes, fingers twitching in anticipation. Jean caught David's eye.

"I'm sure you know the habits of the targets, and the shop site, best. How would you like to do this?"

David paused a moment, brief tip of his head the only acknowledgement of Jean's deference.

"We'll pick 'em up at their place. There're never very many people there anyway. The shop is a short hop west of here. Paulie knows where it is." He blew a slow plume of smoke. "Almost disappointing, to have it over so quick. I've been thinking about taking them out for so long."

"Why didn't you, man? If I'd been here, I wouldn't have been able to hold back."

David flashed Paul a dark look, rubbing his chest absently.

"You weren't the only one that needed time to heal. That ungrateful bastard Michael impaled me in his grandfather's workshop. Didn't seem prudent to go it alone."

"Whoa. I'm sorry. I didn't know you got hit too." Paul put a hand on David's shoulder. David grimaced, but didn't try to shrug him off. "When did they trash the hotel?"

David glanced away, an air of almost embarrassment around him. "That was me. I wasn't…in the best of moods after that night." He looked at Paul. "Sorry about your stuff."

Paul smiled and reeled him in for a quick embrace.

"It's cool, man. I haven't exactly been hinged too tightly either."

"If it's any consolation, David, I have quite an extensive understanding of human bodies and their limits. We can make the entertainment last all night long…with only a few minor supplies."

The two Lost Boys turned towards Jean, wicked grins blooming on their faces. David bared his fangs, eyes rolling yellow.

"What are we waiting for? Let's get this party started."

…..........................................

Alan watched his brother talk to the disinterested teens, shaking his head as they rolled their eyes and turned away. No one seemed to appreciate the threat they were under, or how tirelessly the boys worked to end it.

The two customers wandered out, after laughing in Edgar's face. Alan sighed, stepping out from behind the counter towards his brother who was closing up the front of the store, straightening stacks as he went. Those were the only people they'd had in the store since sundown.

"Edgar, you've got to stop running the customers off. Let 'em buy stuff before you…start…up…"

Edgar lifted his head, ready to toss a snarky comment to his brother, his back turned to the doorway. He paused when he saw Alan's face, white as a sheet as he stared in abject horror at something behind him. Spinning around, he came face to face with two shit-suckers he was sure he'd never have seen again in a million years.

"Howdy boys. Miss us?"

Edgar had a moment to reflect on their vast armament, tucked away under the counter. Then his world went black.

…..........................................

Alan woke with his head pounding, strapped to an office chair with hose clamps. Groaning around some kind of thick cloth gag, he looked around, trying to see where Edgar was.

As his vision cleared, he started screaming, though he made little sound. Still, the other occupants heard him, turning monstrous faces and sharp toothed smiles in his direction.

"Looks like we'll have an audience after all."

David strode over to the dark-haired boy, patting his cheek.

"Had a good nap, sleeping beauty? All nice and comfy? You've got the best seat in the house for tonight's show, so glad you didn't miss it."

Taking a last drag on his cigarette, the vampire stubbed it out on the back of the boy's hand, eyes flashing in amusement watching him scream and squirm.

A wet, angry gurgling sound came from behind him, and David turned with a bright smile.

"What was that, little toad? I didn't get that, maybe you could try again."

The sandy-haired boy was strapped to the end of an engine lift, his arms and legs bound, tears running down his face. He was trying to scream, but with half his tongue gone and long, half-healed gashes in his throat, he was having difficulty.

Sauntering back towards their hapless captive, David grinned at Jean.

"So tell me, how do we go about skinning this frog?"

"Why, one limb at a time, of course. Slowly and with the utmost care." Jean's face glowed with malevolent glee. "Paul, if you would strap an arm to one of the dip rods?"

Paul cackled with delight, moving quickly to set up. Jean motioned him to lower the lift, till just the hand was under the surface of the acid. Within moments, their victim was squirming madly, bucking and stretching, his face red with his silent screams.

"As you can see, the acid is rather weak, dissolving tissue slowly." Jean gestured, speaking almost clinically to an entranced David. "this serves to increase the level of pain, while decreasing the rate of injury, allowing for a most leisurely session. Should the subject lose consciousness, the smelling salts and a bit of sugar water will revive him. We'll go through several cycles at least, along with some cautery to keep him from bleeding out, before we reach the final act."

"Hey, where did we put that popcorn?"

David and Jean turned from their discussion to see Paul rooting through the supplies.

"Never mind, I found it!" He hovered over the human strapped to the office chair, patting his head, then using him as an arm rest while he grabbed a handful of popcorn and stuffed it in his mouth.

It was several hours before the limbless body was lowered into the vat, and Paul was nearly beside himself with laughter, screaming tips while what was left of the victim struggled to keep enough of their nose above the surface to keep breathing. It went quicker than expected though, the body sinking under, giving only a few twitches before going still. They all watched for a moment, turning away when it was clear the show was over.

Paul stood close to the tank, watching closely and breathing hard, face fierce as he roared in triumph. He turned a sharp smile to Jean, then David, eyes bright with eagerness.

"Guess melty lips sink frog ships, or, something like that. So, what do we do with the skinny one?"

David had his own feral grin. "My turn."

Grabbing a rolling toolbox he'd set up during an intermission, he swung it over to the seated captive. The dark-haired human had clearly given up, laying hunched over, hiccuping sobs shaking out of him now and then.

David picked up his chin, forcing him to meet his eyes.

"That's it, look at me, little piece of shit. Now tell me…right or left? Go ahead, you know I'll hear you."

His claws dug into the captive's chin, and they whimpered, shouting out a directive that didn't match what flashed in their mind. David's chuckle was low and dark.

"Good try."

Reaching down, he circled the right wrist with his fingers. "Such dainty bones. Too bad." Tightening his grip, he bore down till the bones ground against each other, the captive grunting and pulling with greater and greater urgency as he slowly crushed the joint, leaving the hand dangling limply from the shackle.

Reaching for acetylene torch, he lit it with his lighter, the flame drawing the wild eye of the human.

"Eh, not exactly like a sunburn, but it'll do."

David was surprised to learn a human could bite through so much fabric.

….............................

The sky was just beginning to lighten as the trio stood once more on the bluff, having disposed of the remains over deep water. Paul and David faced each other awkwardly, Jean waiting at the far end of the cliff, giving them their space.

David looked Paul over, dropping his mask of indifference, face and body tense.

"You could stay here tonight. Or longer. We could take down Michael and the rest."

Paul's face was creased with distress. "I…I really can't stay. It doesn't feel like home, not anymore. I really just don't care about any of the others, either. Tonight was enough. Really cathartic, ya know?"

David snorted. "Throwing around those two-dollar words now, hmm? Seems like hanging around your fancy prince is good for you."

"He is. David, Jean's been so good to me…I can't …I don't know what I'd do without him. You could come and… stay with us?"

"What, and be a third wheel for the rest of eternity? No thanks, Paul. You know I rule Santa Carla now. I'm never going back to playing second string."

"You always had bigger dreams than I did, David. I'm happy for you, man." Paul stepped closer. "I just don't want you to be alone."

David shook his head, smirking. "You remember Maria? She's been a big help, taking care of Max's estate issues, doing all that daytime stuff. Dealing with me being…me. I think she's got what it takes. We're gonna groom another minion, and then I'll bring her over. I know she wants it."

"Dude! That's great. Really great." Paul inched closer, hands twitching.

David rolled his eyes, though his smile was gentle. He threw his arms open, gesturing at Paul. "Bring it in, blondie. I know you want to."

He couldn't help the happy chuckle as he was nearly tackled by the enthusiastic blonde. If he hugged back just as hard, well, no one else would ever know.

Walking Paul back to his friend, David held out a hand to Jean.

"You take good care of my brother, or you'll have me to answer to."

Jean grasped his hand, then leaned in to kiss a surprised David on the cheek.

"I'll care for my ange like the treasure he is, never worry about that. You know you'll always be welcome in Galveston, David. I'll leave my number for you at the hotel."

"And you two will always be welcome here. I'll have Maria call your folks and leave a number you can get a message to us at."

Taking their leave, they made it back to their suite with minutes to spare, Andrew nearly frantic as he paced by the balcony door. He fussed at both of them before shooing them away, making quick work of the extra window shades before retiring to his own room.

Shucking shoes and most of their clothes, Jean and Paul crawled into bed, curling around each other as the sun crested the mountains in the east. This time Paul was tucked into the sheltering curve of Jean, back to his front, tousled head pillowed in the crook of his shoulder.

"So, ange, anything else you want to do here? We could stay a while if you like."

Paul shook his head sleepily. "I just want to go home." He pulled Jean's arm closer, clinging tight as he slipped into sun-sleep.

Jean brushed gently at soft, blonde locks, throat working against sudden emotion. Laying a soft kiss on the top of Paul's head, he followed him down to a dreamless day.


	6. Through the dark of the night

Through the dark of the night

…...........................

Warnings – disassociation/depression, non-explicit male nudity mentions, intimacy without sex

…...........................

The next evening broke somberly, Paul turning moody and distant, all too ready to leave. Their journey back to Galveston was quiet, the atmosphere subdued. Paul spent most of it staring out a tinted window, lost in his own thoughts, slow in responding to Jean's inquiries.

For his part, Jean kept a watchful eye on his charge, using a long-familiar book as a prop to cover his observation. Paul was sinking into himself again, giving barely more than a grunt when they returned to their home, slinking out of the car to disappear up into his room.

Shoulders slumping slightly, Jean watched him go, turning when Andrew put a light hand on his arm.

"It was a difficult visit. He'll need time to come around."

Jean ran a hand through his dark locks, sighing deeply.

"I'd hoped that having some retribution for his torture would help him move past the trauma of it, but it only seems to have left him worse off than before. We've come back to square one."

"If I may be so blunt, he wants your help, even if he isn't saying it. He seems desperate for someone to fight his self-hatred, forcibly if necessary."

Jean threw an arm around Andrew, giving him a fond squeeze.

"How did you get so wise, old friend?"

Andrew's face was calm, though his eyes twinkled, a gentle smile tweaking the edge of his lips.

"Years of observation."

Snorting in agreement, Jean headed inside, returning Claudette's welcoming hug with a peck on her cheek.

"I'm not sure how things will be, my dear. I will try to warn you if things get rough."

She nodded as he wandered away, heading up the stairs towards Paul's room. The blonde was sitting on the floor on the far side of his bed, back to the door in the darkness.

Shedding his jacket and boots, Jean crawled across the bed to sit at the edge, legs straddling the forlorn figure. Elegant hands moved to massage tense shoulders, kneading lightly, sliding up under long, golden locks to work gentle circles on scalp and forehead.

Jean felt the full body shudder, heard the low sob as Paul tossed his head, pulling away and shrinking into himself. Giving a soft huff, he simply reached down, gathering up his friend and lifting him up on to the bed and curling tightly around his back, arms slipping around Paul's middle.

Paul tensed in surprise as he was lifted and moved, suddenly straining against Jean's grasp. Quiet whimpers fell from his lips as he scrabbled weakly at Jean's arms, his movements only serving to nestle him deeper against the older vampire.

"…let me go…"

Jean nuzzled gently against the back of Paul's neck.

"Never, ange. You're stuck with me, darling. You'll find there's nothing you can do that will successfully drive me away."

An anguished cry was muffled as Paul's face burrowed in the bed covers, heavy emotion wracking his body. Jean just held him tighter, humming old French lullabies softly as the night deepened around them.

Near dawn, Jean picked up his charge to take him into his own bedroom, getting them both ready to sleep through the day. Once again, he wrapped himself firmly around his tormented child, drawing him near as the sun crested the ocean to the east.

For more than a week, Paul barely moved, laying withdrawn and indifferent through day and night. Jean spent his time singing or reading aloud, holding Paul close as the nights crawled by.

Jean kept his charge constant company, finally taking a brief leave to hunt when it was clear Paul would not rouse to accompany him. He set Andrew at his bedside, bidding an unresponsive Paul to listen should his butler have cause to direct him for his own safety. His kills were swift and gluttonous, planned with supporting Paul's needs as well.

Returning home, he felt a sense of unease, the house as quiet and still as when he left, the scene in the bedroom unchanged. Andrew stood, shaking his head at the unspoken question, Paul still curled away, sunk deep within himself.

Sitting on the bed and stroking the now-catatonic blonde's hair gently, he frowned. Biting into his own wrist, he held it to Paul's lips, growing agitated when there was no response.

Pulling Paul over to lay flat, he worked his bleeding wrist between his charge's teeth, heart clenching in dread as the pooling blood leaked from unmoving lips. Massaging Paul's throat, he was able to get some down, finally giving up the fruitless endeavor as his wound healed shut, Paul remaining deathly still.

Brushing Paul's mind, he felt nothing but emptiness, a vast black vacuum where the spark of his charge's bright self should be. Crying out into that void, tears prickled wine-dark eyes when no response came. He turned to Andrew with alarm.

"He's withdrawn too far, Andrew. I will have to follow him down and pray to the dark gods that I can pull us both back out. Come back near dawn, do what you must to rouse me."

Andrew nodded; distress writ large across his normally placid face. He closed the door behind him, and Jean sank down into the bed, wrapping around Paul, resting his forehead against Paul's own.

Sinking into himself, he traced the bonds with his blood kin, feeling the strong pulse of Andrew and Claudette, radiating care and concern for him and their newest blood brother. Going deeper, he touched the link to Paul, weak but thankfully still present, as quiet and unresponsive as the physical body it connected him to.

Stretching out, following the faint trail, his consciousness spread thin as it went deep into the core of his wounded child. He found a dim pulse, a slow and shuddering presence, wrapped tightly around itself in cold and lonely protection against its painful reality.

Softly, Jean's presence caressed the fragile wraith, bathing him in warmth, beseeching response.

" _Mon étoile filante*, come back to me…don't turn away. Ange, come back now."_  [*My falling star]

"… _no_ …..."

" _Please, ange…I want you …I need you to come back._ "

"… _you don't…nobody could want me_ …"

" _Paul, you must believe! I love you more than anything else in this world. Reach out to me, dearest one._ "

"… _I'm…too weak…too useless…let me go_ …"

" _ **PAUL!**  I need you. Don't let go. Don't leave me. Please, ange, don't leave me alone._"

The feel of Paul's spirit grew paler, more tenuous. Jean gathered as much of himself as he could, engulfing the flickering presence, pouring the depth of his own feelings out, desperately hoping the flood of emotion would rekindle the light of his life before he was too far gone.

Paul seemed to grow even smaller, retreating further into the kernel of his self. Jean's presence practically vibrated in his distress, transmitting his impassioned pleas as best he could, fearing any moment Paul would slip away.

So slowly it was near imperceptible, the weakened flicker grew more steady, the glow of Paul's self becoming a bit brighter. Jean was joyous, showering Paul with encouragement.

" _That's it! Give me a chance, little one. Feel my love for you."_

"… _Jean_  ..."

" _I'm here, dear one. Come back to me, my love._ "

"… _it hurts…I can feel the pain…over and over… I can't get away_ …"

" _It's just a memory, ange. Hold on to me, let me bring you back to here and now. Let me show you that you're safe._ "

Faintly, there was a slight nudge, a pale and ghostly tendril of consciousness touching Jean's own. Cradling Paul's trust with care, he suffused the connection with the warmth of his love.

"… _why?_..."

" _Sweet ange. In all the world, in the centuries of my existence, only you have seen me for what I am, and loved me for it. It is truly so hard to believe I would return the favor?_ "

"… _yes_ …"

" _Light of my life, I have given you my heart. Would you be so cruel as to throw it away?_ "

"… _no…I don't want you to hurt_ …"

" _Nor I you, my love. Now come with me, come back to the world with me. Let me show you how much of a treasure you are to me_."

The change was gradual, the sense of movement illusory in this deep realm, yet still there was a lightening as the pair came back to consciousness, Jean centering back in himself at the last moment, when he was sure Paul was wakening. Lifting up to see Paul's face, he was thrilled to see life in the familiar sky-blue eyes staring back.

Marred still with pain, Paul was now at least animated, turning towards Jean to cling tightly. Jean returned the embrace, running a soothing hand through wild blonde locks as Paul shook and cried, tears staining Jean's white shirt with trails of pink.

It took a while for Paul's emotions to run themselves out, and he came back slowly, occasional hiccup rising over the soft lilt of Jean's whispered affection.

"What is hurting you, ange? What drove you to this?"

"…I…I thought it would help, getting revenge. I thought it would make the nightmares go away…"

Paul spasmed in sudden pain, clutching hard to Jean, words spilling from his lips in shuddering gasps.

"…it only made it worse…now…sometimes it's me, sometimes the boy…flailing, melting…I felt his pain, as he died, worse than my own…I can't get free."

Jean kissed Paul's forehead, gently brushing golden hair out of the way of sad blue eyes.

"Sweet ange, I am sorry our trip has caused you so much anguish. I too had hoped the resolution would bring some distance, help you move past the trauma of that terrible night. I think I may be able to help you, though, if you are willing. It's not something I like to do, and will only attempt it if you are fully willing, and clear in understanding the ramifications."

Paul frowned, puzzled at Jean's words. "What could you do?"

Brushing Paul's cheek with a light hand, Jean cast a serious look at the young vampire.

"I am able, if you wish, to build you a …wall…of sorts, to give you some measure of peace."

Now Paul was moving, pushing up to kneel, placing both hands on Jean's chest and stare at him, incredulous look on his face.

"You…you could have done this before? Why didn't you tell me?! How could you watch me suffer, knowing you could help?!"

Jerking away, Paul moved to get off the bed, but Jean moved quicker, holding him fast from behind. Paul struggled, anger rising to give him strength, though not enough to break free.

"LET ME GO!"

Jean just gripped tighter, gripping Paul's arms firmly and speaking low in his ear.

"No, ange. You must understand, this is not something I offer lightly. We are too close now, you and I. To work on your mind, your memories, the curtain I draw will fade out your past, the bad and the good. There is little finesse to it. And your mind will not heal, as it would if you worked through this yourself. If ever the curtain breaks, you'll feel the full weight of your memories once again, just as sharp as they are now, if not more for having hidden them away for so long."

Paul slumped against him and Jean relaxed his hold, arms now gently snaking around to embrace as he leaned his head on Paul's shoulder.

"If…if you did this…can you undo it?"

"I can. It will not be easy on you, though."

"But I could have a break from it? I don't know, just to feel better for a while? Maybe come back to it when I'm ready?"

Jean nodded, smiling softly. "A wise question, ange. It's possible, if that's what you really want. I'd advise not to go too long before facing the truth again. But the distance of time may give you a better perspective on these events. And you would never have to face them alone."

Paul twisted around, facing Jean with sad but hopeful eyes.

"Please, help me, Jean. Take this pain away from me. I can't go on, it…it just hurts too much."

"If you ask it of me, I will, ange. You may find it difficult to remember all the pieces of your past, dearest. What would you have me tell you when you feel disoriented?"

"The truth, I guess. Whatever you feel is enough." Paul paused, thoughtful. "I won't forget you, will I? I won't forget us?"

"You won't forget anything entirely, but it may be very hazy. You may not have the same strength of feelings, though I think you'll still have vague impressions, of all your past, not just us. It's difficult to be sure, I've only done this once before."

"What happened? Who was it?"

"No one you know, ange. We parted ways a long time ago."

"I…I don't want to lose you, Jean. I need you."

"And I, you, ange. I will do my best to help you."

"So…do we do this now?"

"We could, but we are closer to the dawn than I would like. This is not something that does to be rushed. Can you make it through one more day?"

Paul shrugged, his face falling. "I think so. As long as you'll stay with me?"

"You didn't even need to ask, ange."

…..

The next night broke clear and bright, the full moon rising out of the ocean to bathe the coast in silver light. Jean lay awake, Paul's head pillowed on his chest, idly carding through wild blonde hair as he waited for the sun to fully set.

A sharp intake of breath, the feel of Paul's stubbly cheek rubbing against his skin, brought Jean out of his rambling thoughts. Kissing the top of a shaggy head, he was rewarded as Paul turned pale blue eyes his way, a wan smile gracing those delicate lips.

"Are you sure you want to do this, ange? We could wait, there's no rush."

Paul shook his head, sitting up to wrap a protective arm around himself. "No, no waiting. I need this gone."

Jean nodded, sitting up himself. He pushed the pillows back, arranging himself, comfortably cross-legged, reaching out to Paul. Following his direction, Paul moved closer, letting Jean drag him onto his lap, front-to-front, his legs draped casually around Jean's hips.

If Paul could still blush, he would've, as the closeness of Jean's body set him ducking his head, averting his eyes, even as Jean wrapped an arm around his waist, the other sliding gently up the back of his head to encourage him to rest on a pale shoulder.

"Hold me close, ange, and let your mind open to me."

Paul took a deep breath, letting himself relax as he let it go. Feeling the brush of Jean's mind against his, he welcomed him, basking in the warmth of love and comfort flowing through their bond.

Jean let his presence diffuse into Paul's mind, mapping out the length and weight of memories, using the worst events to build a virtual timeline of his ange's life. With delicate phrasing of directives, reinforced with sire's command, Jean set the shields, doing his best to mute the worst and heaviest pain while leaving some remembrance of the life that had shaped Paul into the amazing person he was. Ever mindful, he set a key to bring the barriers down, ensuring he'd be able to release Paul's memories when the time came.

Pulling back out, he sent Paul to sleep, giving his child's troubled mind time to adjust. Opening his own eyes, he rolled back, gently laying the sleeping beauty down to rest so that he could get up for a moment.

Andrew was waiting when he opened his bedroom door, a tray with a full glass waiting.

"Sir. How is he?"

"Thank you, Andrew." Jean picked up the drink, tossing it back in one go. "Paul will, I think, feel better than he has, though he might be a bit confused at times. At his request, I blocked his memories, to ease his pain and give him time to heal."

Andrew drew back, brows lifting, though he said nothing.

"I know, old friend. It is far from an ideal solution. Yet what could I do? I nearly lost him to his torment. If giving him this reprieve grants him the strength to accept his tortured past, then it will be more than worth the risk."

"As you say, sir. Will you tell him?"

"Yes. And you may as well, though I ask you refrain from detailed descriptions. He should only need generalizations to firm up his remembrances."

"Of course. Will you need anything tonight?"

"I think we're good, I'll let you know if we make any plans. And now I must get back, he'll be waking soon and he shouldn't be alone."

"Very good, sir."

Jean ducked back into his bedroom, moving to sit on the edge of the bed near Paul, book in hand as he waited for his friend to awake. Motion and a light sigh had him turning a gentle smile towards his charge.

Paul blinked, slowly rising to sit up and glance around. He smiled sleepily back at Jean, running a hand through shaggy hair.

"Hey there. Guess I musta overslept."

"It's fine, ange. We don't really have any plans for tonight."

"Yeah. That's good." Wiping a hand across his face, the blonde shook his head. "Don't really feel up to a lot. Not sure why. I am a little hungry though."

Jean's smile tilted toward wicked. "I can help with that, if you like."

"Oh, yeah?"

A quick flick of a nail opened a gash in his wrist, and Jean held it out in offering. Paul's eyes flashed wine red as he took Jean's hand, cradling it tenderly as he sank fangs deep in to the wound, nearly moaning at the taste of his sire's blood.

Jean drew nearer, brushing Paul's hair back, his eyes closing in bliss as lips moved softly at the skin of his wrist. He let Paul feed for a while, the two slowly moving closer till they were nestled against each other, only reluctantly twitching his arm when he started to feel the drain.

"Ange, that's enough."

Paul was slow to let Jean's wrist go, finally lifting his head to turn a red and sharp-toothed smile Jean's way. Entranced, Jean leaned in for a kiss, licking the taste of himself off a startled grin. He straightened up, giving Paul a warm look.

"What would you like, ange? The night is only half gone."

Paul's grin faded as he turned somber.

"I…I really don't know."

"Well, perhaps you will keep me company? I had wanted to clean up." Jean raised an elegant eyebrow, lips twitching in amusement. "You could use a bit of a wash yourself."

Paul glanced down, picking at his sleep pants and giving Jean a wary gaze. "I guess?"

"Come along, ange. I'll not pressure you, but I'd be happy to wash your hair for you."

"Well, maybe…"

Jean got up, gathering enough fresh clothes for the both of them. He placed them in the bathroom, started the bath running hot in the huge claw-foot tub before ducking out to motion at Paul.

"Ange, at least come and enjoy the show?"

He arched a dark eyebrow, sliding his hands down his own torso and wiggling overly suggestively, a bright grin gracing his full lips. The teasing pulled a soft chuckle out of the shaggy blonde, who finally levered himself up off the ornate bed to follow Jean.

Paul stood by the doorway of the large bathroom, half-watching as Jean shed his black silk sleep pants, running long fingers through his raven locks as he walked towards the tub. Turning off the water, he stepped in, turning at Paul's shocked gasp.

"Is something wrong, ange?"

"I…I don't know." Paul's forehead was creased with concern, eyes white-rimmed. "I just…don't like baths." He shrugged, wrapping his arms around himself. "I…know it sounds weird, I don't like seeing you in there."

Jean gave him a soft look as he sat down in the water, turning to lean on the side of the tub facing Paul.

"It's quite alright, ange. You've had a terrible accident in the past, that's why you feel this way. But it's over, and this is not that bath or that time. Come closer and see."

Frowning, Paul sighed, wiping a hand over his face.

"You say I had an accident, but I can't remember anything. I'm not even sure I remember how I got here."

"It hurt you so very much, love. You have asked me to hide it from you for a while, so you could recover."

Paul was quiet a moment, watching Jean from a distance. "I guess that makes sense. How much did you hide? My whole brain feels fuzzy, more than if I'd been on a good bender."

"Only the most painful things, my dearest ange. I wouldn't willing take more than necessary to help you heal. I think eventually, you'll remember more, and the past will be clearer. Just give yourself some time."

Paul nodded, relaxing some, stepping a bit closer. Jean gave him an encouraging look before turning to pick up a washcloth and lather it with a jasmine scented soap. Pointedly not watching as Paul edged slowly towards him, he scrubbed his arms and chest.

As he lay a foot on the tub edge, stretching easily to wash it, he paused, cocking his head. Giving a playful smile to the blonde now inches from him, he offered the washcloth.

"Perhaps you would like to help?"

Paul's eyes went a wide for a moment before he returned the smile with a pale imitation of it. Still, he took the cloth, gently rubbing circles along Jean's ankle and lower leg, only pausing when he reached Jean's knee. He glanced away a moment, offering the small cloth back to Jean.

"Thank you, ange."

Jean let his leg sink back into the bath, watching Paul as the blonde cast his eyes around, finally turning to face Jean.

"You could always join me in the tub, ange. I could wash your hair, and you wouldn't have to be concerned about staring…"

"I wasn't staring! I just…I don't know."

"It's alright, you know." Jean placed a hand warmed by the bath on Paul's cool one. "I would never do anything without your consent. I value you, ange, and want you healthy and happy, or as close as we can get you. Right now though, I think getting you clean would be more than enough."

Sighing deeply, Paul gave him a wry smile. "This isn't some trick? I've been warned about tall, dark strangers…"

Jean gasped theatrically, clutching at his chest. "Perish the thought, my dear! I hold your honor as the highest treasure. I assure you my intentions are beyond reproach!"

Shaking his head and chuckling softly, Paul stood, turning away slightly to slip out of his red pajamas. With his back to Jean, he slipped into the bath gingerly, his body tight with tension. Jean stayed still and quiet, letting Paul sit and arrange himself stiffly, with arms wrapped around bent knees, before he spoke.

"Ange, are you all right? Is there something I can do to help?"

"I'm ok." Paul's voice was whisper soft; his face buried in his knees.

"Let me warm the bath up a bit, hmm?" Jean turned on the faucet again, the fresh hot water filling a small trough till Jean released a catch underneath, letting the water dump out quickly. "How does that feel?"

Paul gave a small shrug, but relaxed a little, letting one leg stretch out. Jean made a show out of picking up the washcloth again.

"Would you like me to wash your back, ange? Hand me a soap you like."

Paul reached out, the movement of his arm splashing water, the sound echoing in the large, tiled room. He picked up one of several bars of soap held in a dish hanging from the tub's side, bringing it close to sniff at it, then exchanging it for another. The one he gave Jean had a light golden color, engraved with elegant script.

"Ah, honeysuckle. You try to tempt me by making yourself irresistible, ange! But, I will be strong, for I have given you my vow."

Jean lathered the soap thickly on the cloth, barely laying it on Paul's back when he felt it shaking beneath his hand.

"Ange?" He listened closely, to hear something that sounded suspiciously like restrained snorting. "Are you laughing at me?"

"Drama queen." The snarky reply came so softly, it carried no heat.

"Well, if that be so," Jean countered amusedly, now rubbing the body in front of him a bit more vigorously, earning relaxing muscles and a contented sigh. "then you must be the drama king, and in this as in many things we are well matched."

He felt more than heard Paul's answering puff of agreement, which turned to a sudden inhale as he started washing a muscular chest sprinkled with golden hair.

"Relax, ange." He spoke softly as he leaned in. "I'll not dip below the water line."

Moving on, he ran the cloth down one arm then the other, languid and easy, smiling into the skin of the shoulder he rested against as the tension beneath it drained away. Rinsing the washcloth, he handed it to Paul.

"Wipe the soap off, ange. I'll get started on your hair."

Picking up a small bowl off the shelf of supplies, he filled it, pouring it slowly over the back of Paul's head, working at the tangled strands to get them completely wet. "Tilt up now." Jean slid a hand under Paul's chin, pressing lightly. Paul responded, allowing the top of his head to get thoroughly soaked.

"How does something with vanilla sound, ange? I think it will meld well with the scent of the soap."

Nodding, Paul continued rinsing himself. Pouring some shampoo in his hand, Jean started massaging it into Paul's scalp. He smiled to himself when Paul groaned happily, head pressing back into his gentle fingers.

"You've…done this for me before?"

"Yes, ange. Once. It brings me great joy."

"…I…like it too."

"Dearest one, if it makes you happy, I'd be delighted to do this anytime."

Paul glanced over his shoulder, a shadow of a smile on his lips. Jean stroked his cheek with a soapy finger, a trail of foam now tracing the line of his jaw, leaving both men amused as Paul reached for the cloth to wipe it away.

"Time to rinse, I think. Gird yourself."

Jean picked up the bowl again, running clean water through Paul's long hair, carding out any tangles. After wiping his face off again, Paul turned towards Jean, hopeful look on his face.

"…I could wash your hair?"

Jean grinned wide as he ran light fingers on Paul's shoulder.

"Ange, that sounds delightful! Let me get myself turned around for you."

It took a little maneuvering, a bit of sloshing and awkward touches but the two got themselves rearranged, Paul scrunched with knees bent behind Jean to be close enough to reach without draping himself around the other man. For his part, Jean shamelessly enjoyed every bit of touch Paul provided, tilting his head back and relaxing completely, humming now and then in gentle encouragement.

Paul had finished rinsing Jean's hair, yet his fingers lingered, combing through the black tresses with patient determination. The light touches down his back set Jean sighing happily, not daring to move lest the spell be broken. Behind him, Paul drew a deep breath, releasing it with halting effort.

"…I don't know why…"

"Why what, ange?"

"Why it's so different now…with you. I…I know I've had partners before." Another ragged sigh. "I want…to touch you. But I'm afraid now…and I don't know why."

Jean bent his head a moment, touched by his love's admission. He spoke softly, without turning around. "Dearest ange, you've been through so much, you have no idea how strong you are, how much I admire your courage. We have all eternity to grow closer, I think you will find me a very patient lover where you are concerned. I am delighted to receive whatever you feel you can give, and give whatever you wish to have from me, as every little bit of it is a gift beyond measure. Take your time, little star, to do what feels right and good for you."

Behind him, Paul gasped, the sound thick with emotion, and very slowly wound his arms around Jean's chest, pulling tight to let his cheek rest against Jean's back. With great care, Jean lifted one of Paul's hands to his lips, kissing the back of it lightly, turning it to plant another soft kiss against the palm, and then another, his lips dragging gently across the sensitive skin, and then one more, flat teeth grazing every so lightly, followed by the soft pull of a languid kiss.

Paul shivered against him, but touched his own lips to Jean's shoulder, barely more than the brush of a butterfly's wing.


End file.
